Two and a Half Winchesters
by Frankie Winchester
Summary: "She curled herself into a ball. What the hell was her life coming to? She came up here to ask John to spare a kidney. Now she was dealing with murder and killer brothers and half of her damn ear bleeding out. What a shit storm of a day." Frankie Pearce's time on God's green earth is running out. Needing help, she seeks out her deadbeat father, John Winchester.
1. Prologue - Gone

**A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you ahead of time for reading. Just a few things, this is a story that takes place a week before the events of Season 4 Episode 19: Jump the Shark. Something to note, I am a fan of pre-writing and have already written a good amount of this story, meaning that I will regularly update on Fridays. There may be exceptions, but I will inform when these will be. Thanks again and have a nice day!**

She was gone. Though she lived on in the raw memories in my mind and in the many pictures that her friends and family left, she now existed as a clean granite tombstone with "Sierra Love Pearce" etched into it, preceding the date of her death which I refused to look at any further.

It was her kidneys that killed her. PKD runs heavily in in her side of the family. I'm no exception. I would be lying if I said I wasn't even a little scared. Though my mother left me alone to live in our house with no close relatives in the country and no immediate means of making a living, what scares me the most is dying alone, which I'm sure to do.

Now that my mother is dead, I have no one. She was the charismatic one. She was the one with lovers and close friends. She was the one with a social profession, always meeting new people and swapping stories. I am the loser daughter who lived under her mother's shadow, studying up on her cryptozoology in a going-nowhere passion. My mother never really got into what I was reading and researching about through the years, but she still smiled and asked questions. Sometimes I would look away from the many articles of wendigo sightings throughout history to see her taking notes in order to catch up and remember what I was saying. She was great like that.

But now she's gone, and I'm still here, a walking kidney time bomb whose only plans after her mother's funeral consist of snuggling into a blanket with the latest book on Nordic folklore.

My mother was the one who got me into monsters and myths in the first place. She told the same story every time she got the chance. Years ago, before I was born, she was locking up the bar after a long night and was attacked. She refused to specify exactly who, or what, it was that attacked her, but what she did tell me over and over again was that a man named John Winchester saved her. She told me how he was a hunter and hunted monsters like vampires and ghosts and the like. I thought it was just a scary story, even as a kid, but the stories got more detailed as I got older and I could see the pain in her eyes, the mental scars left behind. To this day, I never asked her about the physical ones, the scars on her neck, but I never stopped wondering about them, especially when she'd periodically rub them when telling her tales.

That man, John Winchester, is my next stop. He's my father, at least that's what my mother always said. They apparently had a fling after he saved her and then he was gone a few days later. Despite his swiftness in her life, there was no fooling who my father was.

My mother only had one photo of John. It was a still of her work's security cameras. She tampered all the footage of the attack and of him ever being there to protect his identity, but she still kept that small keepsake as a reminder of her savior in her direst moment. Even in that security footage still, I could see the resemblance. Mom said I had his smile.

So after I have my fill of gazing down to the fresh grave at my feet, I will go home and pack my bags. I will be leaving the not-so comfort of my now empty home to go out and find my father. Without my mom or any other immediate relatives near me, I will surely die in waiting for a transplant when the day comes for my kidneys to fill with cysts. That is unless I find my next of kin.

There's no guarantee John will want to help. I'm not exactly daughter of the year, and I have little to offer a man who – supposedly – hunts Scooby Doo villains. It's not like a heroic rogue will want to start a father-daughter team with a twenty-one year old do-nothing dunce fighting werewolves or mummies or trolls or Loch Ness monsters, but that's not what I'm asking of him. I'm just after his kidney. When I'm lying in a hospital bed, attached to numerous tubes and surrounded by falsely sympathetic glances from nurses and doctors, I at least want the chance of surviving, unlike my mother.

Will Mr. Winchester be by my side, providing actual comfort while I lie sick and dying in the uncomfortable hospital bed? Absolutely not, but I'll at least have his life-saving organ. I have to. I don't want to die alone, and I don't have forever. Even though I have nothing to live for, at least I have something to strive for. I promised my mom on her deathbed that I would live on for her. I promised her I wouldn't sell out, that I wouldn't give in to the soul-crushing loneliness that suffocated me whenever she wasn't by my side. I promised her that I'd go forward in life, even if that led me to different corners of the world. She knew I was never happy here. I've never been one to break a promise.

I'll take my leave now. I'll give my mom one last goodbye before I have to go off on my journey to find my lost family. I have to find a match. I have to find someone to help save my life. I have to find _my_ John Winchester. I have to, or before I know it, I'll be gone, too.


	2. Chapter 1 - Bitter

Frankie closed her book with a thud. She sighed at her inability to read a proper page in her most comfortable chair, in the middle of a thunderstorm no less. It was the perfect atmosphere to read about Draugen, but the new void within the walls of her home made it impossible to focus.

She had eaten dinner, taken a shower, and cleaned the house, and now there was nothing left to do to fill in the void. She supposed she should get around to packing. After all, she was leaving in the morning.

She sauntered into her bedroom, tossing her empty duffle bag onto her mattress. It had been empty for years. The last time she used it, she had taken a trip to Gatlinburg, Tennessee with her mother. That was when she was seven. She hadn't left this damn uneventful town in fourteen years. Fourteen years too long, if you asked her.

She swung her closet door open with a familiar creak from its hinges. Her eyes scanned over the few clothes she usually wore. She only had about eight shirts, three pairs of jeans, and one true pair of sneakers that she ever wore. They all were thrown onto her bed beside her bag. She skimmed over the remains in her closet. They were the many shirts and shoes that only fit her ten year old self. She supposed she should donate them, but no one would find the sentimental value of a Hollis County Fair t-shirt with a mustard stain on it. She threw that shirt in with her other clothes as well.

She began folding her clothes and stuffing them into the bag. She had a long journey ahead of her. She started thinking about all the gas stations weirdos she'd have to face, all the bar pickup lines she'd have to sit through. They were inevitable obstacles she'd have to face on such a mission, but every creepy stare and eager smirk would be worth the battle if they only led to the whereabouts of John Winchester.

She wondered what her first interaction with John would be like. Her mother always told her that he was resilient and could be rather serious, but was also charming and had a caring side to him at times. To Frankie, he seemed like any other one night stand gent, but with the addition of saving her mother from being brutally murdered. She hoped he would accept the fact that he had a daughter and that perhaps he might want to know more about her than her diseased organs, but she knew better.

He was a resilient hunter type who would want all of his organs in check instead of in another body on the complete other side of the country, no matter the affiliation. She hoped he was different. She hoped that maybe he would disprove the stereotype, but the chances were low. Lower than her chance of surviving if she gave in to her doubts and stayed home. She had to make this trip, no matter what his answer would be. She needed to know, not just for her health, but so she could finally find out who that side of her was. She was a Pearce for sure, but how much of her was a Winchester?

Her last button up shirt was just set in her bag when something dawned on her, something rather important. Where was she going to start? She had plenty of clothes, food, and money to make the trip, but where the hell was she supposed to start? It was a big country and she had absolutely no lead to the whereabouts of John Winchester. Hell, he might not even be in the country anymore! How was she to know?

She sighed as she leaned her arms on each side of her duffle bag. Boy was she in a pickle. Had she really been so worried about what meeting John would be like that she never stopped to wonder as to how she was going to find him?

"Stupid," she muttered to herself. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. You're a goddamn idiot."

Now what was she supposed to do? Any trace of John in this town was erased by her mother and she was the only one Frankie knew who came into contact with him. All that was really left of him was that security footage still that her mother had.

Her head tilted to the side when she remembered the photo. She'd need it if she were to ever find a way to locate him. That was the only picture of him that she had.

She walked out of her room and down the hallway, heading to her mother's room. She approached the paint-chipped door, but she stopped in front of it. She was overcome with the same dull ache in her chest that she possessed for the last few months. She hadn't entered that room since her mother was placed in the hospital.

She closed her eyes tight. It was only a room. It wasn't her mother.

She opened her eyes when the door opened and she walked in. She ignored the familiar scent surrounding her and looked around the room to start searching. She never saw where her mother kept the photo, so she would just have to scour the whole room. The thought brought a new pain in her chest, but she swallowed it down like molasses.

She looked through the nightstands and the drawers, but she only found the usual clothes and pocket bibles. She always found it strange that her mother had those. She wasn't a religious lady, and Frankie hadn't been to church a day in her life, so why have them?

What particularly hit her hard was the discovery of multiple notepads filled with facts of various mythical creatures and occults in a box. They were the notepads her mother would have on her to take notes and keep up with Frankie's rants on various subjects. She decided to keep them with her and put them in her duffel bag.

The last place she had to look through was the closet. Just as she thought, there were clothes and boxes of sentimental things, mostly books. There were no pictures of strange men in any of them. She was beginning to get frustrated. Couldn't her mother make it easier to find? After all, she always had it out when she told the story, and she told it very often. It would have to be accessible to her somehow.

Maybe her mother destroyed it or put it away so that Frankie would never use it to find John Winchester. She wondered why she would do such a thing. It didn't make sense. Her mother glorified the guy. She practically told Frankie to go out and find him to learn his story.

Looking back, however, her mother did always avoid talking about who it was that attacked her. It wouldn't be totally bogus to assume that John still dealt with affiliates of the attacker. Maybe her mom wanted her to know that her father wasn't just some guy she met in the bar, but also wanted to protect her from being attacked like she did. It did scar her pretty bad on her neck and back. It obviously had intentions to kill her. It would be understandable for her to want to protect her daughter, but, Godammit, Frankie wanted to find her father!

She had intentions of slamming the door, and she very well would have if not for noticing one more box that she forgot to check. This one was nearly hidden on top of the shelf in the closet among the many hats her mother had. She reached for the box with eager haste. Unfortunately, it was just out of reach. Damn her average stature. Why couldn't she get her father's height?

After stacking a few of the other boxes on top of each other and stepping up on them, she finally reached the mysterious box and set it on her mother's bed. Outwardly, it was just another box. Nothing special. Inside, however, was a different story.

There was the picture alright. The familiar sight of the black and white still involuntarily curved the corners of her mouth into a faint smile. She snatched it and held it up to her face, tracing John Winchester's own visage with her fingers. She just knew she'd find him. She had to find him. For… his kidney. Not because she wanted to become his doting daughter or anything. That was out of the question.

She lowered the photo into her lap and stared down at it with hopeful eyes, at least she did until a bright light penetrated the comfort of her sight. She winced at the light and looked over to where it was coming from. It was from the very box by her side, and the light was reflecting from the overhead light on the ceiling and onto a metallic object. After moving her head slightly, she found what it was. Her eyes widened.

Her mother had a machete in her box. Her mother, Sierra Pearce, the barista who owned a swear jar for ten years before she said "Fuck it," owned a machete. Her mom could barely cut a Thanksgiving turkey, let alone anything enough to kill it. Just the thought of her mother intending to kill something or someone gave Frankie an involuntary chill. She didn't know why. If they needed protecting, surely her mom would be the one to do it. Frankie wouldn't have the strength. Not that she wouldn't want to, but because she had no muscle in her arms to chop off a limb.

She set aside the surprise of her mother's possession to inspect the box further. It looked like the blade was resting on a newspaper. With careful fingers, she lifted the machete and set it aside to take out the newspaper. She read the headline with gradually furrowing brows.

 **Mass Grave Robbing Strikes Hollis County: Twenty Bodies Snatched**

"What," Frankie whispered under her breath. She never knew anything about mass grave robbing around her town, and her town was tiny. All the ones in Hollis County were. Any news of this stature was known to everyone, so why didn't she know about this? She looked to the date on the newspaper.

February 14th, 1987

Frankie knew that year all too well. She was born that year. She found it equally eerie and interesting that she was born the same year as a massive grave robbery in her home, but also wondered why her mother had a newspaper with this headline in particular. None of the other articles were as notable. If someone were to keep this particular newspaper, it would be because of this report.

Frankie sat there, staring at the headline and the date back and forth. It didn't take long for her to actually figure it out and once she did, she still took a minute to fully register it and be sure of the calculations. She was born that November. That would be nine months after the events of the grave robbing. She didn't need to be a scholar to figure out the correlations of her present situation.

This event must have been the reason why John Winchester came to Hollis. That meant there was a possibility that the sick bastard who was snatching bodies might have wanted to try his hand at abducting someone living and he might have wanted to start with a lone barista in a closed bar who was working late one night. Little did that asshole know, John Winchester was already hot on his trail when he saw him attacking her mother and put a stop to it quick.

Or something like that. It was all pure speculation, but there was one thing for sure, and that was that John came down there to investigate stolen bodies. The rest was simple to figure out. If John came down to Hollis County, Alabama to find whoever was stealing multiple dead bodies, he was probably doing that in other parts of the country. All Frankie had to do was find those places and assume John was involved, go to those places, and ask around if anyone knew him. It was simple!

She now had a plan. It wasn't entirely solid, but it had some firm foundation and she was taking it – as well as the machete, picture, and newspaper. Despite the farfetchedness of the plan, at least it got her out of the house.

Frankie rocketed out of her mother's room and into the living room to snatch her coat. She was off to the library to find the whereabouts of John Winchester.

Keeping her eyes open proved to be a challenge the more she held her face to the fluorescent computer screen. Articles upon articles of grave robberies from across the United States mocked her the longer her eyes remained glued to the monitor. As it turns out, grave robberies involving numerous missing bodies was a _very_ common occurrence, so much so that New Orleans had around twenty of them in the past two years. It made enough sense. Above ground corpses were easier to nab.

Her search for John was beginning to become a momentous task again. There were so many cases of mass grave robberies that it would be impossible to check them each individually, let alone lucky enough to find a single person who knew her father.

She was peeved by this entire situation. Why couldn't John have made himself easier to find? Why not leave her mother with a number of some sort? What if the grave robber he killed had accomplices who wanted revenge and decided to go after the one that got away? Would he be comfortable with letting her mother – and soon later daughter – die so horribly? Some guy he was.

Frankie knew she shouldn't think like that. She had never met the guy, but that posed to be a cause of her bitterness, too. Every girl who had a deadbeat dad always hopes their would-be father to be some incredible guy, but Frankie had the rare chance to know what he was like, and she still didn't know what to make of him. He saved her mom in a badass way, so he was chivalrous, but he also hit-it-and-quit-it without using protection. The uncertainty of their first meeting gave Frankie a migraine.

She sat at the table of the library with her head in her hands, rubbing her eye sockets deeply with her fingers.

This was a disaster of a situation. Not only would it be nearly impossible to track John down with the amount of information she had, but there was also a small chance that he would ever want to help a child of his that he never lifted a finger for. He may be a chivalrous guy who saves attractive women from certain death, but nothing in that description implies that a man like John Winchester would be caring towards his own kids.

She just had to take a chance on him. Even if she didn't get the promise of his kidney when she needed it, she'd at least get the chance to kick him in the nads for leaving her mother to raise her alone. That was worth enough for the journey.

She clicked the button to print and watched as the library's printer spat out dozens of pictures of newspaper headlines and photographs. She had a lot of places to check, a lot of damn places, but if she was ever going to find him she needed to start somewhere. New Orleans sounded good. That was the place with the most cases – as well as the more recent ones. There had to be a time when John investigated a case in New Orleans.

She gathered all the pictures from the library and took her leave, scanning through the stack as she thought over all the confusion and fear that must have come about from the cases. Looking through each of them made Frankie wonder about the business John had being down in Hollis investigating grave robberies. What kind of demon possessed him to go after such specific felons? Was he a part of some company who worked cases like this, something in the law enforcement perhaps? Her mother always used the word "hunt." Maybe he was a P.I. or something. That seemed pretty cool. She could understand if her mother needed to tamper the evidence of John in the bar if he needed to remain anonymous to the public. Maybe he was in the F.B.I.

' _No,'_ Frankie thought with a scoff. _'Why would the F.B.I. be investigating trivial cases like grave robbing? That'd be stupid.'_

Frankie halted. All muscles tensed when her eyes saw a familiar face. At least she thought she saw it. It could have been anything, but she swore she saw… no. It couldn't be.

She held the latest picture up into the light to see it better. It was a newspaper article from Windom, Minnesota. The headline read:

 **Missing Bodies Found**

 **Seventeen bodies recovered from abandoned shed**

Underneath that headline was a photo of the crime scene. Several people surrounded the discovery of the supposed missing bodies; several people including a familiar face.

It was hard to spot, but Frankie swore with every fiber in her makeup that one face in the crowd was her father, John Winchester. It wasn't a great quality photograph, but she could just make out his prominent brow, dark hair, and light stubble darkening his chin. She quickly snatched her mother's old still from her pocket, dropping all of the other articles on the floor, and held it up next to the Windom Gazette picture. Despite the low quality, it was an exact match.

A sigh left her lips, its sound being a mix of relief and disbelief at the luck she had just been given. She at least knew where John was, but now she needed to know how long ago he had been there. She looked to the date under the newspaper's name.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 9TH, 1990

' _Damn,'_ she grumbled in her head. _'Just missed him.'_

She did notice, though, that John worked a similar case to the one in Hollis just two years later, only in Windom, Minnesota. If her mother knew him, maybe there was a chance that someone somewhere over there knew him as well. Who knows, maybe he even sowed his seed there, too. As much as Frankie enjoyed the bitterness in that thought, it gave her a small pain in her chest.

She shook her head from the insignificant thoughts and lingered her eyes on the newspaper article. Looking at John Winchester's face in someplace other than her mom's still photo gave her a hope that swelled her heart into sturdy confidence. She knew exactly where John was and when. All she needed to do now was go there and ask around for anyone who knew him. Simple.

Frankie nodded her head as she folded up the two pictures and shoved them in her pocket. "I'm going to Windom," she announced to herself, and then left the library and the scattered other newspaper articles behind.


	3. Chapter 2 - Hope

She waved the smog from the retreating bus out of her face. Well, she was finally there. After a day and a half of picking up rides from strangers and taking the occasional bus, Frankie was finally in Windom, Minnesota.

She rolled her shoulders. The stress of traveling and using her money sparingly was off of her shoulders, at least for the time being. She knew the entire way up there that there was no guarantee that she'd get any luckier than she did in the library back home, but she kept telling herself that she'd worry about that after she investigated the citizens of this town.

On the way over, Frankie mulled over where she'd start to ask for John Winchester. She came to the decision of starting in the police department. Surely the officers who were involved in the case all those years ago were still around. Maybe at least one of them knew John. However, the thought of meeting strangers right as she arrived sickened her. She was covered in sweat and was physically exhausted.

She decided, while standing on the sidewalk almost lost-looking, to check into a hotel and freshen up before investigating any further. Maybe she'd go out for a drink while she was resting up. Despite this being a serious journey to find a biological match to her kidney, she thought she just might treat the ordeal like a vacation. She rarely got a chance to travel in leisure, so why not start in Windom?

She checked into a motel instead upon seeing the local pricings for hotels. The room was nothing lavish, but had everything she needed for a short stay. She tossed her bag onto the lone bed with a sigh. She kept telling herself that she deserved this. She told herself that she deserved to relax despite doing very little. The rebuttal in her head was that she was an emotional wreck. Her mother just lost a long battle with her time bomb of a body and now Frankie was left all alone. She didn't even have a damn pet to look after. One would help, that was for sure.

She stripped down and placed her dirty clothes on the bed before padding into the bathroom. After figuring out how the faucet worked, she stepped into the tile shower and began washing her grimy body and thick brown hair under the steaming stream.

It didn't take long before Frankie's mind started wandering to more grim topics. What if John said no? What if he sneered at her proposition and turned his back on her? What if he didn't even accept the fact that she was his kid? What was she going to do then? She supposed the only thing to do would be to go back home to an empty house, to apply to the bar her mom worked at – she _was_ twenty-one now – and live a life of anxiety for ten years, just waiting for that identifiable pain that indicated her expected cysts.

And then a worse thought popped into her paranoid head. What if he only had one kidney? He was a dangerous man, and quite a drinker, too, if her mom was telling the truth. What if over the years he had an accident and damaged one of his organs or what if he actually was a considerate guy and gave it to someone else who needed it?

She closed her eyes. She didn't want it to be true. She didn't want all of her effort so far and the effort to come to be for nothing. She simply supposed that she had to hope that he would have one to spare, and hope that he would be willing to give it up for her.

* * *

She walked through the glass door and entered the realm of beer, sweat, and cigarette smoke. She took a solid sniff and lightly smirked. It smelled like her childhood. She let the door close behind her and walked up to the bar to sit on an open stool. She ignored the interested face of the man on the next stool over.

It wasn't but a few seconds before a bartender appeared before her with a bright smile. She was a middle aged woman with slightly curled blonde hair. "Hi, sweetie. What can I get ya? Tap water?" she quipped, an obviously a hit to Frankie's young appearance. The girl smiled at the remark as she took out her driver's license.

"Whiskey, please," she answered passively. Her order raised the eyebrows of the bartender as she prepared her beverage.

"That's a big drink for such a small girl. Something troubling you?"

"No, ma'am. Just been a long few days," Frankie sighed with a small shake of her head.

"No ' _ma'am_ ' here, honey. Here I go by Lisa. Though, I gotta say I appreciate the politeness." She placed Frankie's glass in front of her and poured her drink. The younger woman gave a small thank you with a nod before taking a sip, relishing in the familiar burn.

Her mother never approved of her early start to drinking, but she accepted it as an inevitability since her career merged so closely with her personal life. Frankie found herself smiling into her glass as a few memories flooded back to her. They were bittersweet ones. She remembered her mother being her only drinking partner. She didn't have a lot of friends and the ones she did have were uptight goody-two-shoes pricks who soon left when they figured out her mom's job. She didn't mind. Her mom was all the friend she needed.

She gave a sigh through her nose as she raised her head to rip herself from the saddening memories. She took in her surroundings as she listened to the dull country music ringing through the bar. There wasn't much to take in, really. Tables and chairs, a pool table, fluorescent lights everywhere, and a thick fog of smoke collecting in the air.

Once done looking at the rest of the building, she turned her attention to the wall behind the bar. Aside from the racked up beverages, there was a small section adorned with photos of a prominent couple. She instantly recognized the woman as the bartender, Lisa. She recognized the man only when he came into view behind the counter. They apparently worked together at the bar. She supposed that was pretty nice. The man was bald, wore large, round glasses, and looked middle aged as well. She sighed once more before giving the photos a split second glance as she went for another sip.

She nearly spit out her drink as she took a double take to the wall. Her mouth had a mind of its own and decided to go slack as she stared a something she wasn't entirely sure was there. Why would it be? It was much too convenient to her current predicament.

She had to blink a few times before she was absolutely sure that it was there. On the wall, clear as day, was the exact same newspaper article that brought her to Windom. She stared incredulously at the article depicting multiple police officers and one John Winchester. As much as she hesitated to take her eyes off of his vague image lest the article disappear, she also recognized another new familiar face, it being the male bartender in front of her.

She switched her eyes between his face on the newspaper and in real life a few times before she made an attempt at speaking. "E-Excuse me," she piped up a little too eagerly. Once she got the man's attention, he smiled as brightly to her as Lisa had. "Why do you have that newspaper article on your wall?" she asked with all the seriousness in her body. The man stopped cleaning his glass and looked behind him at the article.

"Oh!" he said with a diluted joy. He turned back to her as he offered a thumb to point back at the picture. "That was a case I solved back in the day when I was a deputy. Before I ran this place." He gestured to the building with his free hand.

" _Co_ -ran, Joe," Lisa playfully corrected as she momentarily passed him. The man let out a chuckle as he continued his cleaning.

Frankie's eyebrows knitted together at the drop of his name. "Joe? Joe Barton?" she asked.

"That's me," the man answered. Frankie felt a surge of excitement jolt in her. She tried to further the conversation once she realized that she had been staring in amazement.

"I-I read about that case. How you found all the bodies. You were awarded for it." Joe looked close to blushing with pride as he rubbed his rag into another glass. He nodded and looked ready to toot his own horn before Frankie continued. "Since you were there, maybe you know the man I'm looking for. Do you know John Winchester?"

Though she was sure he tried to hide it, Frankie noticed him pause his cleaning. A quick flick of her eyes up to his face showed that his proud attitude was gone and replaced with a neutral expression fitted with slightly narrowed brows. He looked up at her over his glasses with an almost quizzical face.

In an instant, his entire demeanor change to a more stereotypical thinking face. He looked up to the ceiling with pursed lips as he continued his glass cleaning. "John Winchester, huh? Name doesn't really ring a bell." At his words, the built up hope in Frankie's chest was snuffed out like the cigarette from the asshole sitting next to her. It seemed like a brand new rain cloud settled itself nicely next to the ever shriveling heart inside her. "Why? Who is this John Winchester to you?" Joe followed up, seemingly averting his eyes.

Frankie wasn't really sure she should be spilling her affiliations to John to every local bartender on her travels, but she felt the strong need to let someone other than her deceased mother know about her father. Eventually she needed to vent. "He's my father." She didn't notice when Joe stopped cleaning this time. "I've never actually met him… so I'm hoping that I can find him. I know that he was here years ago, so… I don't know. I was kinda holding out that someone here had known him." Frankie went quiet for a minute, realizing just how screwed up her situation was. She shook her head with a sigh and a hopeless smile. "Guess it's a pretty fat chance, huh?" she added solemnly before downing the rest of her drink.

The atmosphere was quiet aside from the casual bar noises. Frankie let the lonely country music do all the talking for her for the rest of the night. She decided that she was done. A new gloom clutched to her shoulders. If Joe Barton, the very man who solved the case back in 1990, didn't know who John was, then what are the odds of anyone else at the police department knowing? The police and bar were the only two places that a guy like him would be affiliated with, right? With a huff, she paid for her drink and started to hop off of her stool.

"I'm not entirely an expert on these things," Joe started, gaining her attention back, "but if I were looking for traces of someone who passed through here, I'd hit up the local hospital. They see more people than anyone around here. Even the police." Frankie stared up at his smiling face. It seemed forced, and it looked as if he were holding back something else that he wanted to say. She decided this once to ignore that look and instead smiled back. She nodded and gave her thanks before stepping off of her stool and exiting the bar.

She went right back to the motel. She'd wake up early in the morning for the nearest hospital. She felt like Joe was onto something. Surely someone like John Winchester got injuries a lot on the job. Maybe he did come by the hospital there at some point. Maybe Joe knew more than he told her…

The thought stuck to her mind until the moment her head hit a pillow. Only then did she realize just how exhausted she really was.

* * *

She paid the creepy taxi driver his faire and turned to the stretching building of the first hospital she'd come across. She had simply told the driver to take her to the most visited local hospital he knew and now here she was. She narrowed her eyebrows against the bright light of the early sun and sauntered through the automatic doors of the building.

She entered the contemporary designed lobby. She noticed a nurse here, an orderly there, and the occasional patient. It was any ordinary hospital, which made her question if normal was what John would be thinking if he needed wounds to tend to.

She shook out of her thoughts and walked over to the front desk of the lobby. A larger woman sat in the chair beyond the counter, squinting passed her glasses to a glowing computer screen. Frankie walked up to the desk and put on her most complying smile. The woman reciprocated the gesture.

"Hi. I don't know if you're the person to talk to this about or not," Frankie stated, placing her nervous hands on the granite surface of the counter, "but I need to search for someone who may have been admitted to this hospital around nineteen years ago. Can you help me with something like that?" At first Frankie was met with a baffled expression. This was obviously not what the woman thought she'd be doing first thing in the morning. Nonetheless, the woman put on an understanding smile.

"I'll see what I can do," she answered. "What's the name of the patient?"

"Uh, John Winchester," Frankie spoke clearly as if she were speaking through a recorder. As the woman typed away at her keyboard, a nurse dressed in a very pink uniform quickly made her way over to the two.

"Excuse me," the nurse eagerly butted in, causing Frankie to step back in slight alarm at her sudden appearance. "Hello! My name is Pamela. What's your name?"

Frankie was caught off guard by her insanely perky attitude and high pitched voice. She was also put off by the incredibly intrusive question. "Um… Frankie Pearce?"

"Hi, Frankie. What was that name that you just mentioned now?" the nurse asked in quite the fervent voice. Frankie sent a quick glance of help over to the woman behind the desk, but she was busily looking through her screen for her father. A look back to the nurse, Pamela, filled her with increasing anxiety. This was definitely a woman she didn't think she should mention John to. What if she wanted him dead? Then she could use her as bait. Not that he'd come for a daughter he knew nothing about, but it was still a threat.

"She's looking for a 'John Winchester'," the woman sitting at the desk muttered for her. Dammit. Now she was dead for sure.

"Ha! I knew it!" the nurse shouted. "I haven't heard that name in a while. He was always a real cutie. Is he back in town?" That was when Frankie perked up. "Are you friends with Adam?" she asked last minute. Frankie narrowed her eyebrows at the nurse.

"No. I don't know an Adam." The nurse seemed to deflate at that. "Wait. Do you know John?" Frankie asked excitedly, relieving the tension in her alarmed shoulders.

"Well, pfft, not _personally_ ," the nurse brushed off. Again, Frankie was met with that burrowing raincloud. "But I know someone who does." And she left it at that. Frankie was left hanging and she shook her head while gesturing for the nurse to continue.

"Can I get the name of this person? Can you point me in the direction of them?" she urged on, trying to get more out of the ditzy woman.

"Well, hold on there, kiddo. I don't just go around giving personal information of my coworkers to just anyone. Why are you looking for John Winchester?"

Frankie paused for a moment, but she ultimately decided that not telling people wouldn't deliver him to her any faster. "He's my father. I'm trying to finally meet him in person. I've been looking for him for a few days."

The room grew very quiet after those words were spoken. The faces of both the nurse and the desk clerk fell to a blank expression. Frankie looked between the both of them, already knowing that they both knew something she didn't. It was a while before one of them spoke. It was the desk clerk. "Here, sweetie," she said as she grabbed an index card and a pen. "Go to this address. A woman named Kate Milligan lives there. Maybe she can help you."

"Ida," the nurse urgently snapped. "You're just going to give her Kate's address?"

"What would you have her do? Wander around town mindlessly looking for him?"

The two exchanged a few more challenging words as if Frankie wasn't there. She tried to drown them out as she examined the card. She smiled down at it. She finally had a lead. She was so caught up in the excitement of meeting this "Kate Milligan" that she walked off as the two women bickered without giving them so much as another glance.

* * *

She was standing in front of the nice looking house of Miss Milligan. It was a decently sized house and very well taken care of by the looks of it alone. It didn't look like the house of a crazed murderer, so maybe that desk clerk was helping her after all.

She walked up to the front door with false confidence and knocked a few times on the door. That's when a new panic washed up. What was she going to say to this woman? She had no idea about the affiliation she had to John, so how was she going to allude to him? Maybe she wasn't home. Maybe she could turn and walk away without any damage.

Just as she turned around, the door opened wide behind her. Her head snapped back to see a golden haired woman around her early forties standing in the threshold. Frankie tried as quickly as she could to put on a decent smile and turn her body back around to face the stranger.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked in genuine inquiry. Frankie opened her mouth in a response, but for some reason no words came out. She had a million things that she wanted to say, but her brain simply couldn't pick one to settle on. Feeling the awkwardness of the situation sink into her gut, she settled on the easiest question to ask.

"Are you Kate Milligan?" she asked, holding her breath for the simple answer.

"I am," the woman answered. Frankie exhaled. "What can I do for you?"

"I, uh…," Frankie started, wondering why it was so hard to form a simple sentence. Maybe it was because she felt like she was so close to finding John. "I was told that maybe you can help me. I'm… well, I'm looking for someone."

"Oh?" the woman, Kate, muttered as she placed a hand against the door frame and narrowed her eyes. "Who would that be?" Frankie felt in her heart that at this point she should be as blunt as she could be. She wouldn't get anywhere with stuttering and stammering through her travels. She took in a deep breath and let it out before gazing up to Kate's eyes with a sincere hope in her honey irises.

"My name is Frankie Pearce. I'm John Winchester's daughter."

For a lifetime, it seemed, there was nothing spoken between the two. A car passed with a whirr. A boy peddled passed on his squeaky bike. But there were no words shared between two women. All there was in the stilled air were stares of deep thought.

Frankie took in the look on Kate's face. Her mouth was parted slightly with furrowed brows, looking her over in a quizzical gaze. Her eyes scanned over her entire face. It looked like she was attempting to find the resemblance. With the light shake of her head and her quirked eyebrows, it seemed as though she found it.

It took a while, but Kate finally moved to the side and opened the door further. "Come-Come in… please," she stammered, raw from the apparent shock of Frankie's reveal.

"Thank you," the younger girl uttered before walking into the well decorated home of Miss Milligan.

"Can I, uh… get you anything? Something to drink?" Kate asked. She seemed to be a rather accommodating host, especially to a complete stranger. Frankie didn't want to be rude, so she asked for water. "Just take a seat anywhere in the living room. I'll be right there."

Frankie did as she was told and walked into the living room. She looked around with mixed emotions of amusement and jealousy. Just the living room was nicer than most of her own house. She picked out a nice spot to sit and made her way over to it. She very well would have sat down if she hadn't lifted her head to gaze at some nearby family photos.

She felt her blood run cold at the sight.

She remained frozen until her shock splashed hot urgency over her and pushed her to almost trip over herself to get to the pictures. She couldn't believe the sight. Sitting as normally as any other family photo was a picture of Kate Milligan and John Winchester, hugging each other like a loving, married couple.

Frankie's eyes lingered on John, on her father, snuggling up all friend like to this stranger. He looked older, that she could tell from his slightly greying hair, so he had been in this very house in the past few years. So this was where he'd been. She couldn't stop the jealousy in her if she had tried to.

So he knocks up her mother and runs off, never looking back, to find the next one night stand, only he finds something _special_ in her and decides to stay for a while. Fucking perfect. What a lovely little fairytale.

She stopped herself from thinking that thought as soon as it mustered through her vulnerable mind. She had no proof to speculate that that was what happened. Maybe he had just met her recently and he wanted to settle down instead of constantly making his occasional rounds. She could accept that. And besides, she should be happy! Enthralled, even. She found him! She found where he was staying. And his girlfriend seemed like a nice lady. Maybe she could convince him to help her out.

"Here you go. One water," said woman cheerily announced, though Frankie could hear the playful restraint in her voice. She turned and accepted the beverage with an equally fake smile. Kate then silently gestured to the seats in the living room with an eager grin and they both sat down across from each other. "So," she started. Frankie was glad that she was breaking the ice because she didn't know if she had it in her to do so. "You're John's daughter, huh?" she asked. Frankie could see the discomfort on her face clear as day. "How old are you, might I ask?"

"Uh, twenty-one," Frankie responded. She was met with the slightly hidden look of relief. She tried not to be offended by the notion.

"Well… what can I do for you, Frankie?" she asked. For some reason, the name sounded so foreign coming from her mouth.

"I'm looking for John," she stated simply. She didn't know how else to say it. That was her mission. She had no other way to brace her for that. Something in her told her that maybe she should have said it a little less blunt right around the time when Kate's face took an uncomfortable turn. "I… it's a family emergency," she added. She was a good person. Easing the bluntness was inevitable. "Well… more like a medical emergency, really…"

Alright, that was enough. She had to stop before she rambled.

"Well, it's a little less severe than ' _emergency'_ , but it's still really important. Important to me." Too late.

"Okay," Kate muttered, nodding with an unsure disposition. "What kind of medical emergency?" At the question, Kate's voice turned a little more serious. Frankie supposed that it was because it was in her job description. She was a nurse, right?

As for the question itself, Frankie was again met with the need to be blunt about her predicament. She already knew explaining this to John would be nearly impossible, but now she was met with his significant other in her own damn house where John was nowhere to be seen. She decided that being polite would not get her point across, so blunt it had to be.

"My mom just died," she let out with a soul deep sigh. The look on Kate's face spelled sympathy, but Frankie wasn't looking for any sympathy from this woman. "She had problems with her kidneys. It's… well, it's a genetic disorder. I'm pretty much guaranteed to get it, but the severity, it… it's uncertain. But… if my mother's experience was anything to go by, then it's not going to be a pretty process." She took a moment to gather her breath, not daring to look up to the woman in front of her.

"The thing is," she started, pausing awkwardly to scratch at her neck, "none of my remaining family are eligible for transplants, and even if they were, none of them are in the country. Now I'm down to one possible family member for consideration, but… heh, the problem is I've…," she finally lifted her head to stare into the older woman's considering eyes. "I've never met him. Not once in my life. I never saw a previous reason to look him up and now… now I really need to just talk to him. Do you know where my father is?"

Kate was silent for a long time, longer than she was outside. She held a nearly unreadable expression, but what Frankie could read spelled out in big, bold letters "DISCOMFORT." As the silence stretched on, Frankie couldn't hold her determined façade any longer. She had to break out her pathetic politeness.

"I mean, I don't need an answer right this second," she blurted, her voice slightly echoing in the open room. "My kidneys aren't supposed to start acting up until I'm around thirty anyways, so… so I don't exactly need his kidney _now_ , per se. I just need… y'know his consideration. I-I'd very much like a chance at life, y'know?"

Oh god, she sounded like such a sob story.

"Geez, look at me," she humorlessly chuckled. "I haven't even met the guy and I'm already making plans to guilt trip him… Look, I'm sorry I'm dumping all of this on you now. It-It wasn't my intention."

"No, I understand," the older woman finally spoke up. "I just… well… gosh, this is pretty awkward." She tried to form the words in her mind, and all Frankie could do was wait patiently while sipping her water. "I don't know _exactly_ where he is."

Frankie couldn't remember if it was her words or the front door loudly opening that made her choke on her water. "Hey, mom! You'll never guess who I ran into on the way over here!" called a young sounding male voice. Frankie looked over to the front entrance of the house as she wiped the running water from her chin. Standing just in the entrance of the living room was a rather tall young man, younger than her, with dark blonde hair, his smile faltering when his eyes landed on Frankie. "Oh, I-I'm sorry. I didn't know you had company over."

"No, it's fine, honey," Kate quickly eased as she shot up from her chair. She seemed rather eager to get out of the awkward situation. "Um… come in here! Let me see you. It's been a while," she beamed as she was greeted by the boy with an engulfing hug. "I wished you'd come home more," she quietly added as the hug broke. In unison, Kate and the boy looked over to Frankie sitting on the couch. The new stranger looked confused. Kate looked troubled.

"Uh… Frankie, this is my son, Adam," Kate introduced with a wavering smile. Frankie looked over to the boy with a neutral smile.

"Hi," he greeted simply with a half wave before putting the hand into his jacket pocket. He then returned his gaze to his mother for her to help him better understand why there was a strange girl sitting in their living room.

"Adam," Kate started, doing just that, as she placed her hands on his shoulders to turn the rest of his body to face Frankie fully, even going as far as pushing him a little closer. "This is Frankie. She's… she's John's daughter."

Frankie watched as the joyous disposition in the boy's eyes faded away. His head snapped over to his mother with surprising speed. The two exchanged a series of silent looks to each other, leaving Frankie to feel a little weirded out. She placed her mostly empty glass on the coffee table in front of her before raising her eyes back up to the pair, noticing Adam looking her over in unknown astonishment. He let an unreadable huff out of his slack mouth, leaving Frankie's brows to narrow.

"I-I have a sister?"

That was the second time Frankie's blood ran cold.

Now it was her turn to look him over in bewilderment. Kate was insinuating that… that Adam was her half-brother, John's son. Her eyes wandered over his entire form, mostly his face. The nose sure did look familiar.

Frankie didn't know how to register her feelings. She'd always wondered what it'd be like to have a sibling – every only child does – but somehow this scenario never passed her mind. She now saw the other perspective of the bluntness of a situation. Having this suddenly dropped on her shoulders did not bode well for her mental stability.

She tried to shake her mind out of the shock. She had always speculated that John spread his seed across the states and now she knew it was true. She just wished he hadn't stayed with them is all. What the hell made them so special?

Frankie mentally slapped herself for thinking something so selfish. They seemed like nice people and deserved happiness. Only… Frankie deserved happiness, too.

She realized that the room was back into its silent state. Frankie swallowed hard to choke down the negative feelings. "Hi," she greeted, introducing herself to Adam as his half-sister instead of a complete stranger. He gave a light chuckle under his breath.

"Hi," he greeted back. He then walked all the way into the living room and outstretched his hand to her. She didn't hesitate to clutch her hand in his and shake it. "It's, uh, nice to finally meet you!" he cheerily added. Then something went off inside him that let loose a thought. That much Frankie could tell from his suddenly furrowed brows. "Does Dad know where you are?" he asked her.

Frankie at first internally shriveled at the thought of calling John "Dad", but then shook it off to answer his question. "I doubt it. We've never met. I don't think he even knows I exist." That didn't sit well with Adam. His face fell to a rather troubled expression. It almost looked like a bad memory rose from his mind.

He kept that look as he turned around to face his mother. "We gotta call him." Kate took a moment to take in a deep breath before exhaling as she nodded. Adam turned back to face Frankie as soon as he got the okay from his mother, nothing but seriousness shrouding his familiar features. "I've got his number. Would you like me to-"

"Please," Frankie answered before he even finished his question. A small hint of a smile pulled from the corner of his mouth before it fell to the serious face of a man on a mission.

He pulled out his small grey cellphone and pressed a few buttons until the phone was brought up to his ear. Kate had come over to sit next to Frankie as he dealt with the phone call. She looked over to the older woman who smiled with soothing intent.

"We'll get you to John. If I know him at all, he'll want to help you. Especially since you're family. He's always been one for family." Frankie could only allow the first genuine smile of the day leak onto her face. It started out as a relieved smile, but then it quickly turned into an excited grin. Something in Kate's face brightened. "You have his smile," she said with a belated chuckle. Frankie's grin only grew.

"I get that a lot," she snickered out. For the first time since she left her home in Hollis, she felt like things were turning around. She felt that finally something was going her way.

"Uh, is this John?" Adam asked into the phone. Kate and Frankie turned their heads to the boy standing on the other side of the living room. The voice on the other line, while incoherent to the women, sounded rough and deep. "No, no, no. I-I really need to talk to John. This is Adam Milligan. He knows me," he added, determination dripping from his voice. There was a long pause before both women on the couch noticed Adam's face fall like a kicked puppy. His mouth slipped open, a small gasp falling out of it as he looked like he had been punched by angst itself.

Kate and Frankie shared another looked, this one filled with confusion and worry. They looked back expectantly, waiting for any indication as to what was being said on the other line.

"I-I'm his son," Adam choked out, looking very near tears. There seemed to be a long pause on the other line. At this time, Adam stumbled into the middle of the living room and dropped himself on the chair across from the couch. He brought his free hand up to his forehead, rubbing it and raking his fingers through his hair as he tried to control his roaming emotions. Soon after Kate whispered to him to try and get him to spill about what the man said, another voice filtered through the phone, this one softer than before. They could now hear what was being said on the other line now that Adam was closer.

"Hi, uh, who is this?" the voice spoke.

"Adam. Milligan. I'm John Winchester's son," the boy answered, his voice louder and more angry than sad.

"Okay," the other voice responded after a slight pause. "My name is Sam. What do you need John for?"

"It's a family emergency. He… h-he needs to be here, but…," Adam gestured wildly in the air before dropping his hand on his knee with a slap.

"Right. Well, uh… we knew John personally. We're… practically family. Maybe we could come in his place." Frankie didn't miss the past tense of "know."

"No," Adam answered with diluted vigor. "No, no, this is something personal. It's…," he trailed off. He raised his eyes to look between his mother and long lost sister, lingering on the latter.

"Look, I understand the circumstance. Really, I do, but if there's an emergency, we can help. We knew John… better than anyone, really." With his eyes still on Frankie, Adam swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing mechanically as he nodded his head.

"Alright."

"Good. Where can we find you?"

"Windom, Minnesota. I'll text you an address to where we can meet." Adam's voice sounded just as mechanical as his swallowing.

The goodbyes were curt and unemotional. Adam closed his cellphone with a resonating snap before he tossed it down onto the coffee table, barely missing Frankie's forgotten glass. His hands found his face, his elbows resting on his knees as he stroked his fingers over his features.

"Adam, honey," Kate cooed from across him. "What's wrong? What's the matter?"

The boy's face lifted from his hands, his fingers linking together in front of him. He looked emotionally drained, even from a simple phone call that lasted merely minutes. He refused to look back into the eyes of the two women in front of him, a shake of his head telling them that whatever news he just received were not welcome.

"Dad's dead."

Silence. This time it wasn't the result of an awkward situation, but instead of utter, near hysterical shock. Adam remained as stoic as he could. In the corner of her eye, Frankie saw Kate bring a hand slowly up her cover her mouth. But Frankie… Frankie was in a much different state.

While she didn't have the benefit of knowing John personally, they didn't have the benefit of chasing after a lingering hope for twenty-one long, excruciating years. Now, in the mere span of a phone call, that hope was lacerated, utterly squashed in front of her eyes.

She held onto a hope that she'd meet John one day. She hoped to see him, to talk to him, to know his story. She hoped to learn about the real John Winchester. She hoped to meet her _father_. And now as a result of her pursuits, she discovered the horrible truth. She discovered that not only would she never meet John, but that she was now and will forever be an orphan, wandering the crust of the planet Earth to find something to fill the hole that hope once inhabited.

As a result of her pursuits, she had no kidneys, no parents, and no hope.

A foreign hand clutched her shoulder. She didn't flinch. To do so, she'd have to feel something instead of utter numbness. She turned her head to meet the watery eyes of Kate. She had apparently known exactly what Frankie was thinking and sent her a knowingly sorry gaze. Frankie accepted this sympathy.

She tore her head away from the lingering stare of the woman, lest she, too, begin to sob. Lifting her eyes, she noticed that Adam was also looking at her, almost expectantly. What did they expect her to do, to say? Did they want her to break down crying? Did they want her to leave the house in an angered, indignant manner? Did they expect her to say, "Oh well," and thank them for the effort? None of those were the reality. Frankie took a moment to breath, swallowed the lump in her throat, and looked Adam dead in the eyes.

"Where are we meeting them?"


	4. Chapter 3 - Foolish

The drive over was wordless and empty. Frankie gazed out the window of Adam's car as he drove to their meeting point. Both of their emotions were calmer now. It was three hours ago that they got the news that John Winchester had been dead for two years. After mulling over their personal emotions over the matter for a few hours, they got a text from the men Adam had talked to earlier saying that they were nearing in on Windom.

Now they were pulling into a small building with the sign "Cousin Oliver's" reaching over it. Once he parked the car, Adam looked over to Frankie and tried to give a confirming smile that they were there. The smile looked more like a simple tightening of his lips.

The two got out of the car, still not saying anything to each other. It wasn't like they didn't want to say anything. Adam desperately wanted to learn about the sister he never knew about and Frankie felt the same about him. However, the news they were given about John's death overshadowed any attempt at reconciliation.

While Adam felt more sadness over his death, Frankie had instead been beating herself up about it. She was angered by the small sadness as a result of learning about John. She had no reason to be sad. It was foolish to feel something for someone she never met, and, boy, did she feel foolish.

She decided to drop everything at home to go on this wild goose chase for her father and on her very first stop she learns that he'd been dead long before her mother had. She was stupid to believe she could have what she wanted for once. She would have been better off staying at home and being stuck on a waitlist than to learn that she was an orphan.

The two entered the small diner with a chime from the door. Frankie looked to the floor as Adam looked around. "Adam?" they heard a voice call from the left. Adam and Frankie looked over in unison to see two men sitting in the far booth of the diner. The two made their way over to the pair.

"You Sam?" Adam asked, looking at the man sitting on the left. Frankie looked him over. He somehow looked familiar. Perhaps it was his hair. She observed his thick brown hair that reminded her of her own shoulder length russet locks.

"Yeah. Uh, this is Dean," the man answered, pointing to the man sitting next to him. Frankie switched her gaze to the man, Dean apparently. A little part of her wished she hadn't due to the look he was giving Adam. His brows sheltered his eyes, casting a faint shadow over the listless look he sent the boy. The feeling of regret only strengthened when his piercing green eyes narrowed on her.

Adam settled himself in the chair in front of Sam, and Frankie took the gesture as an excuse to stop staring at the riled looking man. However, upon going to sit down, she found that her chair was not where it should be. All four pairs of eyes glanced down to the lack of chair beside Adam. Lifting her eyes, she found the missing chair sitting idly next to Dean. She was hesitant to grab it from next to him.

"And who are you?" he snapped in a gruff voice, making her lightly flinch as she scooted her chair in place. She opened her mouth to answer him, but found herself unable to. She could tell that any word that escaped would be pathetically shaky.

"This is Frankie," Adam answered for her. She quickly sat herself down in her chair when the attention of the men switched to the boy. "She's the reason I called John." With that declaration, Frankie was again given the unwanted attention of the two men, their eyebrows narrowed and questioning gazes on them.

She knew she couldn't just sit there dumbly. She reached her hand across the table and outstretched it to Dean. "I'm Frankie," she greeted with a small smile. Dean's expression remained calloused.

"We heard," he bit out. Frankie dropped her smile as she retracted her hand. The man named Sam shot a look to Dean. "Who are you?" the latter added in the same gruff voice. He definitely wasn't asking for her name. She set her jaw at the returning gaze of Sam. She could tell he was wondering about her just as Dean was.

"I'm John's daughter," she stated, clear and simple. She didn't feel any repercussions about being blunt with these two.

The two men changed their questioning gazes to looks of stunned disbelief. "There's two of you?" Dean groused, switching his sights between her and Adam.

"Dean," Sam quietly warned.

"Yeah, we just met this morning," Adam stated, moving the conversation forward. Frankie was grateful for that.

"You've never met before?" Sam asked. Frankie was beginning to like Sam a lot more than she liked Dean. He seemed more reasonable and in control of his emotions.

"No. We're only half-siblings," Adam answered, gesturing between the two of them with his thumb. Frankie was beginning to feel like a third wheel for not talking as much as him.

"I've been trying to look for John for a few days now. His trail led to Windom, so I found Adam's house and met him and his mom." Frankie's eyes turned downcast, staring at the lopsided menu in front of Dean. "And then I found out he'd been dead for two years."

A new silence clouded over the table. At first, Frankie felt a bit guilty for dulling the mood – not that the previous one was any better – before Adam jumped back in to take the lead. "So, um… how'd you know our dad?" he asked.

"Uh, we worked together," Sam answered with a clarifying nod. Adam nodded back, his eyes turning downcast like Frankie's. Then he asked the question that lingered in both of their minds.

"How did he die?" he asked quietly, his voice faintly breaking.

"On the job," Sam answered. His responses were sounding rather rehearsed if Frankie was being honest with herself.

"He's a mechanic, right?" Adam followed up, not sounding too sure with the story.

"A car fell on him," Dean snapped. Frankie and Adam glanced over to him. His expression and tone told them both that he was quickly getting irritated.

Before another word could be said, a brunette waitress approached their table with two glasses of water and a bright smile. "Hey, Adam. How ya doin'?" she asked in a voice that indicated she and her half-brother had known each other for a while. She placed two glasses in front of Adam and Frankie, but Dean swooped in and snatched the one she gave to Adam.

"Oh, I'll take that. I'm very thirsty," he muttered with fake charm as he took a sip. The waitress looked as confused as Frankie and Adam did, but otherwise shook off his strange behavior.

"The usual, Adam?" she asked the boy.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks, Denise." The waitress then looked down to Frankie expectantly. The girl quickly tried to think something up. She hadn't looked at the menu at all and it wasn't until she looked for one that she realized that she didn't have a menu or any silverware.

"I'll just have the same," she answered with a smile up to the woman. She received one in return before the waitress walked off with their order.

The table was silent again. Frankie twiddled with her thumbs under the table as Adam reached for the glass of water that was already in front of him. When she lifted her eyes expectantly to the two men for them to ask any other questions, her face dropped to confusion. Sam and Dean were staring, borderline glaring, at Adam as he sipped his water. They only stopped when he put down the glass and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Frankie decided that she wasn't thirsty.

"So, uh… when's the last time you saw John?" Sam asked, probably trying to move the conversation from their creepy staring.

"I don't even know. It's… a couple years," Adam answered first. Then he and Sam looked over to Frankie expectantly. She noticed that Dean didn't and continued to glower at Adam.

Frankie cleared her throat nervously. It was at that moment that she realized that she was the only one at the table who had never met John. "I-I've never met him." It was then that Dean glanced over to her. He only moved his eyes in her direction, but his head and body otherwise stayed glued to her half-brother.

"Why'd you decide to call him now?" Sam followed up. Adam's attention turned to his sister next to him.

"Well, like I said, I met Frankie this morning. She's the one looking for John, and… and I had his number, so I thought I'd help her out."

"Why are you trying to find John?" Sam asked, this time to Frankie. She took in a breath, quickly deciding in that small interval of time what details to include and leave out.

"I'm on a health related mission," she sighed. "I'm in risk of getting really sick and I wanted to look up my family to see if they'll help out when it happens." Something in the men's faces said that they weren't convinced of the urgency of the situation. With a hefty sigh, Frankie threw whatever caution she had to the wind. "My mom just died from the same thing."

"Really? I-I'm sorry," Sam uttered quickly. Frankie looked slightly to the left to see Adam's concerned face. That's right. He wasn't home when she told his mom. He was just now finding out about her urgent situation.

"Yeah…," Frankie continued. "Her kidneys were failing and she needed a transplant. She, uh… she didn't get one."

"That's tragic, really," Dean gruffly stated in an utterly uncaring way. "But if you're John's _kid_ , how come we've never heard of you?" Sam's face next to him scolded him for interrupting her reveal.

Frankie was quite taken aback by his interruption, but shifted in her seat and tried not to let her thoughts on his attitude be apparent from her voice. "I don't even think he ever knew I existed, y'know? He pretty much just hit it and quit it with my mom when he came to town. But… she always told me about him. She knew some stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" Dean asked with a steely edge to his voice. Frankie licked her dry lips before continuing.

"Well, my mom was working late one night at the bar she worked at. It was supposed to be closed, but some guy got in and attacked her. He probably would have killed her had John not showed up and decapitated the bastard." Sam and Dean glanced to each other briefly as she spoke. "So, she was pretty grateful for it and… well, y'know." They did and urged her to continue. "He was gone a few days later. And I mean, out of the state gone. He never looked back. So, nine months later, I was born and John never knew about it. At least to my knowledge."

The two nodded. They heard what they needed from her and justified it by then turning to Adam. "And what's your story?" Dean urged. Adam shared a look with Frankie and gave a silent chuckle, wondering why the attention was on him when it was clearly Frankie's situation, but one look to Dean told him that it was best to share the attention.

"Well… John and me didn't really know each other. Not until a few years ago anyway."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked him, eyes narrowing in interest.

"My mom never talked about him. You see, she's a nurse and Dad came into the E.R. pretty torn up. Some hunting accident or something? I knew his name. John Winchester. That's about it. We're not exactly a nuclear family."

"Yeah, well who is these days?" Sam quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

"So when did you, uh, you finally meet him?" Dean asked hurriedly. Frankie noticed how it looked as if it pained him to try and behave. She then turned to Adam to listen to his story.

"When I was twelve?" he answered. Frankie found her head tilting slightly. Somehow that seemed to bug her. "My mom had one of his old numbers. And after I begged her, god, twenty-four seven she finally called him." Adam risked a small smirk up to the men. "God, when John heard he had a son, he raced to town. I mean he dropped everything, he drove all night."

His story was momentarily interrupted by the waitress bringing Adam and Frankie their food with a light, "Here you go." She gave Frankie some silverware as well.

Frankie now understood why his story bugged her. She was jealous. He had the benefit of his mother having John's number lying around so she could call him. And she had called him. And John had driven all damn night to see his kid.

So now she truly knew what John was like. Had he the fucking decency of leaving her mother his number, she would have had a goddamn father in her life. She wouldn't have to go through all this shit to find him if he had left his damn number!

She apparently wasn't the only one who was pissed off by his story. "Well that's heartwarming," Dean grumbled as if he were swallowing a large pill. His face justified his apparent emotion.

"You mind?" Adam asked, gesturing to his food. Frankie looked down to her own. She wasn't hungry.

"No, please dig in," Dean assured with a smile that uneased Frankie. She noticed Sam and Dean watching him intently again. This time she participated in watching him to see what they were so obsessed about. He grabbed the napkin underneath his silverware and placed it on his lap.

Then Frankie swore she heard something metallic click together under the table, but she ignored it when Adam continued on with his bullshit story.

"He would swing by once a year or so. Y'know… called when he could, but still," he paused to take a bite of his food. Oh, so he called. Beautiful. Her eyes lifted momentarily to see Sam looking at her with furrowed brows. She must have been showing her current emotion on her face. She looked away from all three of them. "He taught me poker, and pool, and he bought me my first beer when I was fifteen." Frankie spared at look back to the table when Adam started bragging about all the glorious things his idol, John, did for him. She noticed that Dean looked just as pissed as she felt.

"And, uh… he showed me how to drive. Dad… he had this _beautiful_ '67 Impala."

"Oh this is crap! You know what, you're lying," Dean growled, throwing his pent up ire to the table. Frankie jumped at his light outburst.

"No, I'm not," Adam defended.

"Uh, yeah you are."

"I'm sorry, but who the hell are you to call me a liar?"

"We are John Winchester's sons, that's who. _We_ are his sons."

The table fled back to its silent state. While Dean glared at Adam, fuming, both Adam and Frankie looked to the two in growing amazement. Frankie scanned the faces of the men. That would explain why they looked so familiar. She huffed out a light chuckle to herself as Adam spoke out what they were both thinking.

"I've got brothers?"

"No you don't have brothers," Dean snarled, leaning in and switching his enraged gaze between the two across from him. "Look, I don't know if you guys are hunters or what kind of game you're playin' here-"

"I have never been hunting in my life!" Adam vouched. All Frankie could do was stare at her other two half-brothers in utter shock. She was starting to have the growing family tree from the looks of it. John sure did get around.

"Whatever. I'm outta here" Dean spat, and he began to get out of his seat when he motioned for Sam to follow him. "C'mon, Sam." He was already heading for the exit while Sam stayed behind, seemingly tired of his brother's attitude.

"I can prove it."

Adam's voice resonated through the restaurant, gathering the momentary attention from a few other patrons. Dean's feet stopped right as he reached the door of the diner. Frankie risked looking behind her to watch him. From a distance – and even up close – he looked a lot like John. There really wasn't any questioning the validity of these two.

Dean gazed from the back of Adam's head to her. They met eyes. His clearly stated that he wanted nothing to do with either of them. She could understand that. They had both become two siblings richer and battled with whether or not that was a good thing. Just as quickly as he looked at her, his gaze shifted to Sam. He sent a look that only his brother could decipher before he pushed the door and walked outside.

She turned her head back around when Sam sighed. He looked up and silently apologized for his moody brother. "What did you have in mind?" he asked Adam. Frankie was really starting to see a resemblance with him. They were both pretty considerate to others' feelings.

"My house has plenty of pictures of John and my mom and me. And my mom can even vouch for me." Adam attempted to speak calmer with Sam, but it was hard to do so with the lingering energy from the other Winchester still in the room. For whatever reason, Sam looked over to Frankie, maybe for validity.

"He's telling the truth. I was there earlier. I mean, if you wanna take a chance on my good word," she assured with a small shrug.

Sam seemed to battle with himself for a good solid minute. Adam and Frankie sat patiently, waiting for his verdict on the matter. "Alright," he finally muttered. "We'll follow you in our car, but… you better be telling the truth. I won't be able to hold him back if you're not." At that, Sam got up from his chair and followed after his brother, leaving Adam and Frankie alone at the table.

Once again, they were left in their silent slump. It was a few moments before they looked at each other, sharing in a sigh before splitting the bill and walking outside to Adam's car.

Once outside, Frankie could hear her two newest brothers bickering on the other side of the parking lot. She turned her head, watching as Dean animatedly fired off at Sam as he crouched into the driver's side of a beautiful '67 Impala. She supposed Adam really was telling the truth after all.

* * *

Dean was fuming again, that was no surprise. Frankie hadn't even known him an hour and she was already starting to take inner bets with herself on how he would react to various things. In this situation, as he glowered at a photo of John and Adam at a baseball game, she would bet that he would snap in three… two…

"He took you to a baseball game?" he growled. Adam smiled at the photo in his hands, a fond memory flooding back to him.

"Yeah, when I turned fourteen. Dad was around for a few of my birthdays." Frankie quirked her lip at that statement.

Sam walked up next to Dean and whispered what sounded like some sort of date and the word Minnesota while reading from some strange book. Frankie chose to ignore that and instead focused on Dean's ever twitching face.

"… He took you to a freakin' baseball game?" Dean asked louder, sounding more hurt this time despite his humorless smirk.

"Yeah," Adam answered. "Why? What'd Dad do with you on your birthday?" Adam chuckled, taking the photo back. Frankie considered chuckling, too, when she saw the reaction on Dean's face. He turned his head to the side in a mockingly comical scoff. Frankie would have found that funny had she not shared his exact feelings on the subject.

All four of John's kids stood in the living room of Adam's house. It was like some sort of screwed up family reunion. Kate had gone out to her shift at the hospital soon after they left for the diner, so it was just her, Adam, Sam and Dean in the middle of happy family photos of their father. Frankie found herself becoming bitterer the more she realized just how many photos there were of him in the house.

As Dean did his own rounds in the living room, Frankie found herself leaning against the wall by the room's entrance, observing her new "family" from a short distance. What a situation she'd been thrown into. She loses both of her parents and is deemed all alone in this crazy world, but then all of a sudden she finds that she has an entire society of illegitimate Winchester children to call her own.

She looked at Adam. At first she was a little excited to know she had a half-brother, but after learning about how involved her father was in his life, she decided that it was best for them to keep their distance for a little while. She was still raw from the mental trauma of losing everything she had and wanted to have. He really didn't want to make enemies with his new sister, so she'd stay away from him while she worked out her feelings on John.

She looked at Sam. He had his nose in some sort of journal in hands, occasionally flipping the pages as he looked for something specific in it. She could accept that Sam was a brother of hers. Not only did she have his hair's volume and his chin, but she also seemed to possess a bit of his more sensitive side as opposed to his brother. They both wanted to see the easiest possible way to handle a situation and the way to do that was to be considerate of someone else's momentary feelings. At least that was what she gathered from her short time with him.

She looked at Dean. Now there was a surprise. He was so coarse and calloused. He had a pretty little temper on him, too. When thinking over that point, however, Frankie could see a bit of a resemblance. She had a bit of a temper on her, too, when something got under her feathers. Like Adam for example. She was perfectly fine with him until he poured his entire childhood with John out and then suddenly she rolled her eyes whenever he opened his mouth. It would only take a few minutes before she would beat herself up over how selfish she was about it.

She looked at all three of her brothers. Looking between Adam and Sam and Dean, she realized just how much she stood out and not having a dick wasn't on the list. She was the only one who didn't have personal memories with John. She was the only one who knew nothing of being a Winchester. It wasn't just that she didn't have a father in her life; it was that she didn't have _their_ father in her life.

She could see it now. Once on good terms, they'd gather around a campfire and swap stories of hanging out with Pop and Frankie would be the odd one out, poking the fire with a long stick as she ignored the missing piece in her life.

She knew she was being foolish. She was focusing on all of the wrong things. She didn't come all the way to Windom, Minnesota to befriend her deceased father. She came all the way up there to try and get his damn kidney. Of course he being dead was a major road block, but there was a bright light in her dark canyon of a problem. She had three biological family members standing right in front of her!

She stood a little straighter at the belayed realization. Adam, Sam, Dean, they were each possible matches. She'd have to get to know for sure, but to do so she'd need to work on her convincing skills. She had only met them each that day and something told her that Sam and Dean didn't live in Minnesota, so she'd have to act fast. As to what exactly she was going to do to convince them to take a simple test was yet to be decided.

Just as she was beginning to figure things out, one of her new half-brothers walked over to stand next to her. Lifting her eyes, she noticed that it was Sam. He gave a quick smile as he leaned against the archway of the living room's entrance. From the close proximity she could see just how _tall_ the man really was.

"Is he usually that brash?" Frankie asked. Sam followed her gaze to his brother. He gave a small breath of a laugh as they watched Dean shaking his head at a picture of John, Kate, and Adam going fishing.

"Yeah, but you get used to it. Or you don't. People don't usually hang around long enough to try." She was sure Sam just attempted a joke, but Frankie found that statement a little upsetting. A small period of just watching as Dean circled the room passed before Sam opened his mouth again. "So… _Frankie_ ," he sighed as he swapped his gaze on Dean for one on her. She returned the glance. "Where're you from? It doesn't really sound like you're from around here."

"I'm not," she responded. "I'm from Alabama." Sam put on an amused face as a light snort escaped him.

"Really? _Alabama_?"

"Well, yeah," Frankie said with a shake of her head. "Why does that surprise you?"

"Well… it's not that surprising, it's just… I mean, you don't have an accent." His naivety of her state placed a smile on her freckled cheeks.

"Y'know not every southerner has a southern accent. And if we do it's not usually so exaggerated. Where're _you_ from?"

"Kansas."

"Oho, you're one to talk!"

"Midwesterners don't have accents."

"Oh that is such crap! Midwesterners have a worse accent than southerners!"

Sam snorted at her challenging tone. "Is that so? Then where's my accent?"

"Where's mine?" Frankie rebutted. She and Sam stared at each other, waiting for the other to make another move. Then, finally, Sam stepped down and put his hands up in defeat.

"Alright. Touché." Sam and Frankie shared a light laugh together. It felt pretty natural to talk to him. That must be his considerate nature in him. If he kept it up then they'd get along just fine. "I'm guessing kind of a northern Alabama then? Seems like the deeper you'd go then the deeper the accent. If one at all."

"Uh, yeah. Not entirely north, but north enough. A tiny place called Hollis County." Sam nodded his head at that as they turned back to Dean. She saw in the corner of her eye that Sam was scratching at his chin in an almost edgy manner. What did he have to be edgy about?

"So what do you go by? Last name, I mean. I doubt you go by Winchester, right?" he asked, attempting another small joke. Frankie turned her face to him. What was with the questions all of a sudden? She could get it if he was socially awkward, but he seemed like a pretty confident fellow. Certainly he could make better conversation than her home and her last name.

That is unless…

"If I weren't so certain you were just making simple small talk, I'd think you were trying to interrogate me for information without me even knowing." Sam chuckled at that, but he made no move to dissuade from the light accusation. The aversion of his eyes to his brother only strengthened the suspicion. Frankie's smile disappeared. "Pearce," she blurted as she looked ahead.

Sam snapped his own head back to her. "What?"

"My last name is Pearce. Francine Elaine Pearce. I was born November twenty-second, nineteen eighty-eight. Daughter of Sierra Love Pearce and John Winchester. Raised in Hollis County, Alabama. Current residence, Motel Six, Windom, Minnesota." After a few seconds of silence, she turned her face to Sam without a smile in sight. "To save you the trouble of looking me up later."

She was internally kicking her own ass for being snippy with her stranger of a brother. Wasn't she supposed to be gaining his trust so he could give her his kidney? She was doing a bum job of it so far.

She heard him clear his throat awkwardly when she had looked back at Adam and Dean. She saw that he took a small step away from her. She could only guess it was to give her some space, but a better guess was that her cold disposition was shoving him away.

"So, um… ' _off the record_ '," he said in an almost apologetic manner, "what are you going to do now? Y'know, after finding out about Dad." Frankie then slipped back into her usually sad and pathetic skin, her shoulders dropping in a less defensive way.

"Honestly, Sam, I don't know." His name even fit pretty naturally on her tongue. "I came all this way to ask him if he'd be willing to give up a kidney for his daughter, but that seems like a pretty fat chance now, doesn't it?" she explained with all caution gone and bitterness dripping from her words. She didn't see it, but he sent sympathetic glances her way. "Now, I guess I go home to an empty house, find a job, and expect a fine little place on a waitlist someday in the reachable future."

She looked over to him with a humorless grin. He wore empathy on his face. He looked almost sorry for his stranger sister. Frankie then realized how pitiful she sounded and tried to recover from it. She sniffed as she straightened her shoulders and slipped into harder skin.

"But what am I gunna do? I've prepared for this disease my whole life. Today shouldn't change anything. When the day comes for me to get sick, I'll just get over it. Not like I've got much to offer the world anyway."

"C'mon, don't say that," Sam finally spoke up. "Everyone deserves a chance. Even you."

"Ah, if only that were true. What've I done on this planet? Spent a life on a stupid hobby? Mulled over my lack of family? Never done a thing for myself? Yeah, some deserving soul I turned out to be. Not where I thought I'd be at twenty-one, I'll tell you that."

As pathetic as she sounded, it felt good to vent to someone, even if it was her newly unearthed half-brother.

"Well, uh…," he started, not exactly knowing where to take the conversation, but trying nonetheless. Just attempting to be understanding was enough for Frankie to like him. "Is there any family that you can go to? Anyone that will take you in?"

Frankie shrugged halfheartedly. "Kate, uh… y'know Adam's mom, offered me the night in her guest room, but I wouldn't dare abuse her hospitality for my sake. As for family," she explained with an irate huff, "I have an aunt, uncle, and two cousins and they're currently living in a cozy little cottage in southern Italy. So no. That's the long way of saying that I'm on my own." She took a double take at the faint concern on Sam's face. She couldn't have that. "B-But don't worry about me. My mom just paid off our house before she died and I can get a job at the bar she worked at. I won't be too sick to work until I'm like thirty and even then there's no _guarantee_ that I'll be that sick. Don't worry."

Despite her instructions, Sam didn't wipe the look off his face, even when Dean came walking over with Adam in tow. "Alright, Sammy, I think I've seen enough," the older man groused with his hands jammed into his jacket pockets.

"Wait," Adam piped up behind him, gathering the two Winchester's attention. Dean turned with attitude in the one simple movement of pivoting around. Adam looked between his three siblings with a raised eyebrow. "What about Frankie?"

The girl in question raised her own brows at his notion. The attention was put on her then, Sam looking at her like he understood and Dean glaring at her with his sharp, green eyes. "What about her?" he grumbled.

"She's got no one now," the boy pointed out. Frankie let in and out a breath of slight annoyance at the mentioned fact, looking off to the side to cool herself. "You guys got each other, I have my mom…" Dean, though he remained unmoved, now looked as if he understood where she was at in her situation. "Who's she got?"

Frankie turned her face back to the crowd around her. Her eyes instantly connected with Dean's like a magnet. He swapped between the two honey eyes in her skull before shrugging with a shake of his head.

"She's a big girl. She can handle herself."

"Dean," Sam interjected.

" _What_?" his brother snapped back, blinking his eyes slowly over to glare at him. Sam scoffed with a knowing glare of his own.

"She just lost both of her parents."

"So?" Dean bit back as if the girl in question weren't right in front of her.

" _So_ ," Sam repeated with more sass than his brother in front of him. " _Maybe_ we know what that _feels_ like." Frankie now glanced between the two for another reason. The look on Dean's face turned sour as he leaned on his other leg.

"Look, I'm not gunna sit here and play Dr. Phil with someone I've never _met_ before, got it?" he lowly growled, motioning his head with the enunciated word. The look on Sam's face after he said that was the final push for Dean. "I'll be in the car," he hissed as he made his way out of the house, slamming the door on his way out.

"I'm sorry about him," Sam said genuinely to both Adam and Frankie, but mostly to the latter. "This is all just… too much too fast for us, especially Dean."

"No, I get it," Frankie uttered before Adam could. Sam turned the rest of the way over to her.

"We'd be happy to give you a ride to your motel. Well… I would," he offered with a thumb pointing behind him. Frankie smiled at the gesture.

"Thanks, Sam, but as much as I'd love a ride in that Impala, I don't wanna aggravate Dean any more than I have." Sam went to dispel her worry, but she stopped him with a raised hand. "I know all too well when I'm not wanted. Don't worry. I'll be fine taking a taxi."

"No, that's crazy," Adam butted in with furrowed brows. "If you're not staying here then I'll drive you there myself."

"Thank you, Adam." Frankie sent a rare genuine smile his way before looking back up at the tall brother. "See? I got a ride of my own."

Sam smiled down at her, too. It was a rather sad smile and didn't look like it belonged on his face. "Well alright. I guess this is goodbye then." As much as it pained her to see two of her three chances of survival walk out of her life just as they walked in, she knew if there was no getting to Dean, there was no getting to Sam. They seemed like they had that sort of relationship. "Take care of yourself, Frankie."

"I will. You, too," she said back with a slow nod up to the tall Winchester.

To her surprise and utter shock, she was engulfed in a hug by the man. She didn't think they had such an impactful meeting, but something in the hug told her there was more behind it. It wasn't a new brother hugging a new sister; it was one orphan to another.

Upon the realization, she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his body, holding him a little too tight for strangers, but she couldn't help the sudden emotion overcoming her. She had just enough time before he broke the hug to pick up the light scent of shampoo, leather, and aftershave. She knew it was a trivial detail, but since he was leaving for quite possibly forever, she promised herself that she'd never forget it.

She stood back when he let go, not wanting to overstep their raw boundaries. He gave Adam a less impactful handshake and wished him well. After nodding to them both, Sam turned and walked out of the house just before a loud and impatient honk was heard from a vehicle outside.

And just like that, the Winchester boys were out of her life as soon as they entered it.

* * *

She had received a goodbye hug from Adam, too. His was more brief and stiff as opposed to Sam's warm, enveloping one, but she accepted it as fully as she did her other brother's. There was no way of telling when or if they would ever meet again, so she wanted to make sure she gained a lingering memory to remember him by.

The period of self-loathing over her selfishness kicked in when she got in Adam's car. She had been thinking out of hurt and was now filled with the saddening realization that she may never see him again. It was probably for the best. He was a college student, a rather successful one at that, and had a life of his own. He didn't need her around to distract him from all of that.

However, he had been thinking logically. In fact, he seemed to have learned from John's mistake and gave her both his phone number and their father's old one so that she could keep in touch with Sam in Dean. Frankie was so overcome with emotion from the gesture as well as the stress of the rest of the day that she gave him another hug. He accepted it before saying his goodbyes and driving off back home.

Frankie fell back on the squeaky motel bed, a huff leaving her lungs as she closed her eyes tight. Well… now what? Just as her journey began, it was over. The dream of meeting John Winchester was over, and now it was time to wake up.

One would think that as that door closed, three more had just opened up, but Frankie knew better. Adam had his own life. Sam and Dean had their own lives. While she didn't have one of her own, she wouldn't dare attempt to intervene. The last thing they needed was to worry about whether or not they were a kidney match for a sister they had never met before. Frankie was foolish to think otherwise. She would be much more comfortable dying slowly and alone than to inconvenience her remaining family.

Was she being overdramatic? She didn't think so, but who the hell was she to judge that? It wasn't like she had anyone else to give their outside opinion. Though now that she lay on the used bed, eyes now gazing at the stucco ceiling above her, she felt that she was indeed being dramatic. Sure, she still didn't want to bother her brothers, but she felt that she needed to gain some damn confidence in herself. She had at least ten good years left and she didn't need to sulk around during it all.

With a huff through her nose, she sat up off of the bed, put on her good denim jacket that was lying on the chair, and left the motel for the bar in search from some good ol' fashioned liquid confidence.

She hailed a ride from a stranger and arrived at the front doors in less than five minutes. She looked up to the purpling sky above her as she walked to the bar's entrance. She welcomed the familiar smell of a classic bar once again as she narrowed her sights on two empty bar stools ahead of her. There were two men in the surrounding ones, so she'd have to pick one or the other, but she decided to just take a chance and pick one when she got up there.

As she closed in on the counter, Lisa's bright smile greeted her back. "Hiya, sweetie! Another whiskey?" she asked. Frankie noticed something a little off about her. She seemed less jaunty than the night before. She grinned at her despite herself.

"You know me so well, Lisa," Frankie quipped as if they were old friends. The bartender smirked and set off to prepare her beverage as Frankie set herself in the leftmost free seat.

"You gotta be kiddin' me," a gruff voice rumbled next to her. She turned her head to scowl at the man with beer riddled breath next to her for sending attitude her way, but her jaw locked in place at the image she was met with.

Two intense green eyes bore down to her, accompanied by a newly familiar frown on a newly familiar face. Lo and behold, she had clumsily run into Dean at the local bar. "Son of a bitch…," she whispered under her breath. She should have known that he'd be a barfly.

Just as she had registered her new brother's appearance beside her, a long haired head moved into view behind him. She locked her eyes onto Sam's surprised face. "Frankie?" he muttered over the light chatter and country music flowing through the air.

She flicked her eyes to the right to see if she could move one seat over to avoid the resonating anger from Dean, but just as she had sat down, another man took the other seat. She cursed to herself before simply staring ahead.

"Hi."

"How old are you?" Dean grumbled like a strict parent. She could feel his eyes burning into her.

"She's twenty-one," Sam's voice rang from around her intense half-brother. Dean's head snapped over to him. Frankie restrained from doing the same.

"How do _you_ know that?"

"Well, it's simple, Dean. I _listen_."

Frankie held back her smirk at the taller man's remark just as Lisa slid her drink in front of her, moving away right after. She immediately picked it up and took a fiery sip.

"Whiskey?" Dean muttered when he had looked back over to her. She knew that an accusation of her inability to handle the drink due to her age was on the word's coattails, so she rotated her head over to him to send him a challenging glare of her own.

"Yeah," she growled. He remained staring at her face, looking for something she didn't care to think about. She brought her glass up to take an experienced drink of her alcohol as he watched. She didn't know what she would gain from such a move, but watching him lean back from looming over her with a light hum behind his lips was enough. She gazed back ahead and tried to block him out of her attempt of a good time.

The night passed by without a word from the three of them. Though she tried not to notice anything from her two brothers next to her, she did pick up some suspicious movements, but she didn't care enough to investigate it. Maybe she should have. She could have probably prevented Dean's bottle tipping over and spilling its contents all over her hands and pants. She couldn't stop herself from becoming a bit angry when she realized how not accidental the spill looked.

"Oh man," Dean mumbled from beside her, sounding as uncaringly as usual as he lifted the bottle. "Sorry 'bout that." Frankie huffed at him in unison with her other brother. At least Sam was considerate enough to get out of his stool and hand her some napkins, scowling at his brother the entire time. However, as she tried staying angry with Dean, her mind wandered to the fact that the supposed "beer" was clear and smelled like nothing. It was like water in a bottle. She found that strange, but just grateful that it wouldn't stink up her pants.

Lisa brought her a rag to help clean up as well as mopped up the counter for her. Just after she thanked the older woman for her help, she noticed how empty the space behind the counter looked. "Hey, where's Joe?" she asked. Lisa lifted her head with a blank expression. It turned south, however, when she tried to go back to focus on cleaning the counter. Sam and Dean noticed her off behavior as well.

"I… I don't know. He never came home last night." Frankie went to ask why, but that was a stupid question and she swallowed it down along with the whiskey in her glass. "He stayed late to do inventory and… he just never came back. I haven't seen him all day. He… he wouldn't just leave like that." Frankie looked into her eyes with a somber and understanding expression. "I should've been here," the bartender nearly whispered. "He was here all alone. Who knows what happened?"

Hearing Lisa's situation twisted something in her gut. The story sounded awfully similar to her mother's and she knew good and well what happened to _her_. This time, however, she didn't think John was around to save the day.

The bartender shook her head to bring herself out of her dismal thoughts. She put on a smile before offering to get Frankie another drink. The girl refused. She didn't feel like drinking after hearing the upsetting story.

"Uh, was there anyone who would have been here with him?" Sam piped up from two seats over. Lisa was brought back to her worrisome state by his words.

"No. Windom is a safe enough place. We… _he_ didn't think it was necessary to have anyone stay late with him."

"Did he have any enemies?" Dean jumped in as well. Frankie looked over to the two of them. Couldn't they see the woman was distraught over her missing husband? Why did they need to egg things on?

"No. Joe was… _is_ well liked. He was a deputy back in the day. Any enemies he had were put behind bars."

"Do you have any security cameras that could've shown where he went?" Sam asked her. Frankie noticed how both of her half-brothers leaned into the bar and put on serious faces. Did they interview people often?

"We did. But a couple months back some idiot tossed a dart into the one that recorded the bar and we just never bought a new one." Lisa sounded more helpless the more she spoke.

Sam and Dean looked as if they were going to ask more question, but they were stopped by another barfly trying to get Lisa's attention. She put on an apologetic smile before moving down the counter to tend to the other patrons.

Frankie turned back to her brothers to maybe find out why they were so interested in her missing husband, but when she did she saw that they were glancing at each other almost knowingly. Frankie felt like she wasn't in on some inside joke, which she surely wasn't.

She brushed off the strange behavior of the men and reached in her back pocket for her wallet. She froze. She didn't feel her wallet. Shit, she must have left it in her duffle bag at Adam's house. Not only did she have to find a ride back to their house, but she also didn't have any money to pay for her drink. She was going to have to stay late and wash dishes for sure. Unless…

She shyly looked over to Sam and Dean, now drinking and chattering like normal. She cleared her throat. They didn't look over to her. She cleared her throat a second time, this one louder that got their attention. Sam looked over to her expectantly. Dean looked over to her annoyed. His looked gave her a heavy weight in her stomach.

"I left my wallet at Adam's." The looks on their faces remained the same until they picked up on what she was insinuating.

"Oh, you gotta be kiddin' me," Dean groaned with a roll of his eyes. He snapped his head forward to gulp the rest of his drink in irritation of the girl next to him. She growled at him in response.

"Look, can you please pay for my drink and give me a ride? I promise I'll pay you back as soon as I get there."

"There is no way in hell you're catching a ride in my car," Dean groused without giving her a single glance.

"Dean," Sam grunted.

"Why not?" was Frankie's own indignant response to her eldest brother. He slowly glowered down to her. She was sure he was disgusted by her challenging demeanor.

"I don't know you. What makes you think I'll ' _give you a ride_ ' in _my_ car?"

"Dean!" Sam interjected, louder this time.

" _What_?" Dean barked back.

"She's our _sister_ ," Sam scoffed quietly.

"That's no excuse!" Dean shouted at his same volume.

The two brothers stared daggers at each other. Frankie was left to watch the display, hoping that nobody else was listening in. It seemed like a lifetime before Dean broke away. He reached into his pocket, slapped down enough money to pay for all of their drinks, and rocketed off of his stool.

"C'mon," he puffed out to both Sam and Frankie, sauntering out of the bar as he fumed with each step.

Sam looked to Frankie with his usual apologetic expression. She wondered how he put up with him so much. She didn't think she could even if he _was_ her brother. Apparently to him it was almost like he wasn't. Based on their first meeting, she would have preferred that to be true.

Sam led her out to the Impala and crouched into the passenger side. She hesitated to open the door to the back seat. She could feel Dean's eyes boring into her body as she approached his car even through its closed doors. Nonetheless, she crawled in. He stomped down on the gas before she even closed the door, nearly making her fall out. He probably would have wanted that. She buckled up and tightened the belt, feeling like it was going to be a bumpy ride.

They pulled up to the house with a sharp break. Dean really wasn't going to make her ride in his beautiful car an enjoyable experience for her was he? She glared at the back of his head the best she could before unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the door to get out.

All three of them put aside their differences once the shrill sound of blood curdling screams resounded from inside the Milligan house.


	5. Chapter 4 - Nostalgia

**A/N: I wanna take a moment to thank each and every one of you that have read, favored, followed, and especially reviewed this story. It means the world to me to know there are people out there who are interested in Frankie's journey and I hope you find enjoyment in these future chapters! Thanks once again, and have a wonderful day!**

Worry and panic worked in harmony as Frankie stood frozen in place, listening to the jarring screams of Kate and Adam from inside their house. Her heart pounded noisily in her chest. Only in movies did she hear such screaming. She had never heard true terror in person and she sure didn't like it at all.

It was a jolting shock when a large hand clasped onto her shoulder. She let out a frightened yelp, nearly jumping out of her skin as she whipped her head over to see Sam gazing at the house.

"Get back in the car and stay there," he ordered, his words sounding more justified with the shotgun clutched in his other hand. She whipped her head to the other side to see Dean already marching towards the house with a pistol set firmly in his hands.

Frankie shook away as much shock as she could to form a simple sentence. "B-But Adam and Kate are in there!"

"Just stay here! You don't know what you're doing!" the taller Winchester shouted back as he followed his brother towards the front door.

"Oh, and I suppose you do?!" Frankie retorted, her voice shaky and unsure. Sam didn't retort back, and she didn't even notice.

She was very tempted to crawl back into their car and try to block out the screams. That seemed like the safer and more rational thing to do. When confronted with danger, it was more logical to hide yourself away than to pursue it. Even if she was brave enough to charge into the house, guns ablaze, and try to help from whatever was causing them to scream, how was she going to help?

She was a weakling. That was apparent enough due to her hanging behind while two of her new brothers charged into danger with guns at the ready. Where did they get those anyway? Despite how crazy the thought was, it seemed like they were used to charging into trouble without any previous warnings. Frankie definitely wasn't used to that kind of stuff. There was no way she could do that. Besides, it wasn't like she had any weapons of her own to use against the threat inside like they had.

But then she stopped and looked to the ground in thought. She did have a weapon. She had forgotten about it. She didn't have any need to use it. Until now! She had her mom's machete! She could get it out of her duffle bag and help Sam and Dean save Kate and Adam!

Only… her duffle bag was inside. Where the screaming was coming from.

On one hand, she'd help Sam and Dean save the day and she'd feel really good about helping. On the other hand, there was a good chance she'll get really hurt or worse. Sam did say to stay in the car so who was she to break his rule, right?

"C'mon, Frankie," she hissed to herself. "Do something for someone else in your life!" She lifted her chin, took in a deep breath, and marched up the pathway. "No, no, no," she grumbled as she turned right back around and cowered back to the car. She cradled her head in a futile attempt to push the confidence back into her skull. "Come _on_ , Franks! You can do this."

She was stupid. She was so stupid! She was really running up to the front door of the Milligan house. But the way she saw it, she was dying anyway. At least she could go out being some sort of sorry excuse of a hero.

She muscled passed the hesitation that rose in her once she reached the front door. She opened it with much more force than what would have probably been suggested. The slam the door made against the wall would have attracted the intruder, but she didn't have time to think about that. She turned her head and narrowed her sights on the living room.

This time she hesitated. If she went inside there was no turning back. She'd be involved. A whimper clawed its way up her throat. She scowled at how pathetic she felt and stupidly pushed passed that fear.

She looked up the staircase when a loud crash caught her attention. That was where all the commotion was coming from. All the screaming, all the crashing and banging, and all the loud cursing was originating from upstairs. Frankie was momentarily glad. She didn't have to deal with any near death experiences until she climbed the stairs.

She raced into the living room. She flinched at the sound of a gunshot above her, but kept heading over to her duffle bag that sat beside the couch. Panting, she threw her hands into the bag and fished out her machete. She lifted it up into the light to get a look at her weapon of choice.

A powerful force clashed into her body from the side and pushed her right into the nearby wall. Pain overcame her entire form. Her head pounded, her shoulder throbbed, her foot felt slightly numb. Her ears picked up a distracting ringing before it faded back to gunshots and yelling. She opened her eyes to investigate what the hell just happened. Her eyes widened.

"Hey, _sweetie_ ," the large woman mocked with an unsettling smile. Frankie blinked hard up at the image of the desk clerk from the hospital standing above her. Ida, she recalled through her hazy mind. "Funny seeing you here."

Frankie could only lay frozen in fear and confusion as the woman reached for her, grabbing the lapels of her denim jacket and yanking her up to her face. As well as frightened, Frankie was confusedly impressed at how strong the chubby woman was.

"We didn't expect ya here so soon, but I suppose I can work with this," the nurse hissed with a sinister smirk. "Like killin' three birds…," she paused to rear Frankie's body back before hurling her into the wall, her head hitting the firm surface with a resounding thud, "with one stone."

Frankie momentarily forgot how to form words, but once her head cleared enough to process a simple thought, she braced her arms over her body and gazed, wide-eyed, up at the nurse. "Why?! Why are you d-doing this?!" she stammered. It hurt to speak.

"Think of it as payback," the woman sneered. "Revenge festering for nearly _twenty_ years. _Payback_ for what your _daddy_ did to _our_ _father_!"

Frankie had no idea what the hell the crazy bitch was talking about, but that didn't matter when she went to reach for her again. Frankie's defense instincts finally kicked in. She looked around frantically for anything to defend herself with and spotted her discarded machete lying next to her. She clutched the handle just as Ida's fists grabbed at her hair.

With her eyes shut tight and a mighty screech ripping through her throat, Frankie wildly swung the blade at her attacker. With her eyes closed, she didn't know where she had hit, but she knew she had made contact when her attacker shrieked and warm liquid speckled across her face.

Her eyes opened to see the large nurse cradling a crimson gushing cheek. She bore her teeth once her eyes darted back down to Frankie's sloppily retreating body. Frankie just couldn't get to her feet in time before a foreign hand snatched a fistful of her hair and rammed her head into the wall once more.

Instead of falling to the floor, the hand clasped around her neck and pinned her upright against the wall, holding Frankie steady as the manic nurse shot her face to the side of her head and sunk her teeth into the soft flesh of her ear. Frankie didn't get a single squeal out before her attacker tore the flesh off of her ear in one single rip.

The girl arched and buckled against the searing pain on the side of her head. Hot blood hurriedly trickled down her neck and soaked her shirt. Frankie couldn't comprehend much aside from the throbbing pain in her ear and the constricting grip on her throat, making her screams of agony a near silent gurgle.

She dared to open her eyes. She would later wish she hadn't. Before her very eyes, the physical form of Ida, the desk clerk from the local hospital, transformed into a near exact image of herself, a twenty-one year old Alabamian girl, the only exception being the fresh scar on its cheek.

"I gotta say," the attacker murmured in an identical voice to Frankie's, the smirk on her own face being all the more unsettling with its blood-coated teeth, "I like this body way more than that cat-lovin' broad's. But boy was she _delicious_."

Frankie was petrified. Her mind raced with terror-lined confusion as she stared at this _thing_ that had just shapeshifted in front of her very eyes, something she had only read about in her books. "Wh-… what are you?"

Her attacker gave her a mockingly knowing gaze before speaking once more in her own voice. "I'm Frankie Pearce."

"The other one's down here!" a distant voice shouted just beyond Frankie's fading comprehension.

The thing wearing Frankie's skin snapped its head around to glare at the entrance of the living room. Both it and Frankie heard someone coming down the stairs. The creature holding onto the girl's throat let go. Frankie nearly fell to the floor, but she was able to keep herself upright to defend herself if the thing tried to harm her again.

She looked up just as the image of Dean holding his pistol at the ready entered in the doorway. He locked eyes with the two Frankies standing next to each other, both looking to him in surprise and both bleeding in similar amounts.

"Aw crap, not one of these!" he shouted, his shoulders momentarily drooping at the realization of the clichéd situation. He rolled his eyes before asking a question that he surely knew both answers to. "Which one of you is really Frankie?"

"I am!" the creature blurted first. "Shoot her!"

"No! Dean, please," the real Frankie urged as she took a few steps forward.

"Don't move! Either of you!" His gruff voice echoed off the walls of the room as he raised his gun once more. Frankie shivered at the dangerously steeled edge to his voice.

"Dean! It's me! I'm the real Frankie! Shoot that one!" the thing shouted again.

"I'm tempted to shoot both of you! Now shut the hell up!"

"Dean!" Sam's voice called from upstairs. "They're ghouls!"

"Yeah, that'd be great to know if I knew _which one to shoot_!"

Frankie was brought out of the panic of the situation for a few small moments. What did he just say? "Ghouls?" she whispered under her breath, audible only to her. That couldn't be right. Ghouls were… _real_?

Sure she'd read about them since she was little, and there was always a tiny probability of their existence, but they were actually really real? As much as her logic wanted to convince her that it wasn't true, her gut took the reigns and ran with the suggestion. No human could suddenly shapeshift into another person, right?

Now snapped back into reality, she looked over to the ghoul at her side. She had always read that they could be killed by decapitation. She felt a small tingle of nostalgia at the notion. Years of her childhood spent decapitating stuffed animals so she could be just like her father was going to be tested out on a real living thing.

Her eyes snapped down to the floor where her blood colored machete was laying. She momentarily looked up to see Dean asking the fake Frankie a question. She'd need to act fast so that Dean didn't shoot her for moving. She slowly lowered herself to the floor, but she wasn't discrete enough. Dean's eyes flicked over to her.

The feeling of his cutting eyes darting over to her filled her chest with the fear that had been momentarily missing. She decided it was now or never. She snatched her machete and swung it forceful and hard over to the monster next to her, the blade slicing nicely into its neck.

The snapping pain that spread through her wrist like a wildfire told her enough that the cut was not as nice as it was at first. Her wrist had bent back so far that the back of her hand almost touched her arm. She retracted it and cradled it with hot tears beginning to stream out of her apparently swollen eye.

' _Oh well,'_ she thought through the overwhelming pain. _'The thing's head is off, right?'_

Looking up to the ghoul, she found that no, it was not. The machete was instead a little more than halfway through and was now stuck in the stunned form of her own body. She hadn't thought about how disturbing it was to look at her own head nearly being cut off.

A foot collided with the ghouls head in a strong kick, sending it rolling and the machete falling. The blade landed right next to Frankie, but she was just a tad bit too squeamish at the moment to pick it up. Her eyes instead traced the image of the foot up to meet the eyes of her savior, her brother Dean.

He looked down to her with his eyes piercing into hers and the corners of his mouth tugging down into an intimidating scowl. She instantly felt smaller and weaker under his gaze, but behind his apparent anger, there was something more. It wasn't entirely confusion, and it wasn't entirely admiration. She wasn't even sure if it was a mix of the two.

She didn't get much time to mull it over when Sam raced into the living room to see how the fight turned out. He was relieved to find the ghoul dead and Dean unharmed, but Frankie was a surprise to him. After a quick look shared between him and his brother, Sam rushed over to her side with concern and a hint of disappointment coated on his features. Once he reached her, Dean backed off to go upstairs.

"What the hell are you doing in here? I thought I told you to stay in the car." Despite how the words maybe have sounded, his voice was soft and almost akin to that of a concerned parent.

He helped Frankie stand up and assisted her over to the couch despite her ability to do so herself. "I know. I… just couldn't stand by and do nothing."

Sam shot her a scowling, knowing look. "That's a very dangerous excuse. Many people have gotten seriously hurt when they 'couldn't stand by.' By the looks of it," he paused to push back the blood soaked hair by her ear to look at the worst of the injuries, "you're no exception."

He grimaced as he turned from examining her to go into the adjacent kitchen. Frankie felt like maybe things would have ended a lot better had she not interfered. "Sorry. I hope I didn't mess anything up."

"Well, both ghouls ended up dead, so I would say you didn't mess anything up except yourself by coming in here." There was a momentary silence as Sam moved about the kitchen before he spoke again. "At least you're alive. That's more important than the ghouls being dead."

Frankie weakly smiled at that sentiment. That smile disappeared, however, when she remembered why she charged into the house in the first place. "Adam," she exclaimed. "Kate! A-Are they-?!"

"Perfectly fine," Sam interjected in a reassuring voice, urging her to calm down. "A little shaken up and freaked out, but unharmed for the most part." Frankie let out a loud sigh of relief. She leaned back into the couch and tried to relax as much as she could. It was a little easier knowing that those things didn't get to them before they swooped in. "Speaking of which," he added, stepping into the room with a rag in his hands and what looked like bandages in the other, "how are you holding up?"

Frankie mulled it over for a mere second. "Fine."

" _Fine_?" Sam scoffed, seemingly not expecting such a calm reaction. "Never heard that one before."

He instructed Frankie to keep the rag against her ear to stop the bleeding as he examined her wrist. Once he got a good look at it and ran a few tests, he came to the conclusion that it was a mild sprain and that she just needed to rest it up for a few days, icing it a few times a day as well. He wrapped the wrist in a bandaged compression for good measure before lifting his attention up to her eye. It was swollen, but would just need to be iced.

Then he moved on to the big ticket item. He told her to remove the rag so he could get a good look at the injury. She didn't like the look of his face when he finally saw it. He didn't say much as he prepared the bandages for whatever treatment he could perform. "I'd take you to the hospital, but with that other ghoul…"

"Uh, yeah. I'm good." Sam let out a huff of a chuckle at that as Dean entered the room.

"Those two'll be alright. Their only worry now is the stains in their carpets," he halfheartedly joked with a thumb pointing behind him. He made his way over to Sam to stand next to him. He looked down to Frankie with a dulled down version of the look he sent her earlier. Frankie tried to avoid it.

She must look a sight. Eye half shut, ear wrapped in heavy bandages, and a sprained wrist wrapped in a compression. Compared with her two brothers who didn't look like they had a single scratch on them, it seemed as though she was a pretty big wimp. Welp, that's what she got for trying to be the hero.

Silence spread through the room. What else could be said? Actually, a lot could be said, mostly by Frankie, but she didn't really want to ask them to the men standing in front of her. Sam was pretty disappointed that she didn't obey his command, and Dean already seemed like he hated her, so she couldn't ask him, so… what could really be said?

She looked up to them. They were both looking down to her expectantly. It looked like they were waiting for her to ask some sort of question. It was obvious that they were wondering that. After all, _they_ _didn't seem fazed at all that they just went up against fucking ghouls._ That insinuated that they did this sort of thing often. Did that mean that other monsters were real just like the ghouls? Didn't that mean that she should be more freaked the fuck out by that knowledge? Maybe she was in some sort of diluted shock. Surely when she'd get back to the motel she'll curl up into a ball and start hyperventilating. Might as well get that over with.

She took in a breath before speaking up. The two brothers were slightly more attentive at the gesture, waiting at the ready for whatever she had to say in regards to what happened. "Well it's getting late," Frankie muttered. "I should get back to the motel."

The look on her brothers' faces didn't help with the awkwardness of the situation. Their expressions contorted into a symphony of furrowed brows and half open mouths. They were confused, curious, and a bit suspicious, at least that's what their expressions told her.

"Alright," Sam said after a while of staring, though he still sounded unsure. "We'll give you a ride."

"N-No," Frankie blurted, not even sparing a glance to Dean, who she was sure was glaring at the notion. "I'll just get a taxi. I don't wanna bother y'all any more than I have." Frankie and Sam heard Dean snicker quietly at something, but the amused look in his eye disappeared when they looked up at him.

"Well… if that's what you want," Sam added, still hesitant by her decision.

This time, Frankie left with a curt goodbye, but without a hug from Sam. Hell, she didn't even say "thank you" to them with pissed her off once she finally left. She was sure she had been in some beginner's version of hysteria, because once she got in a taxi, she needed to roll the window down to breathe. She had just started to hyperventilate when she unlocked the door to the motel room and entered it, dropping her bag and launching immediately for the bed.

Muffled screaming entered the room. Her face was buried into the mothball scented pillows on the beat up mattress. The screaming kept going and going and going until banging on the walls and muffled shouts told her to stop. But she couldn't. She was in tears, not just because everything on her body ached, but because she was traumatized by the experience.

Ghouls were real. Monsters were real. And her two new half-brothers, ones she had only knew existed just that day, seemed totally unfazed by that knowledge. Hell, they seemed to know exactly how to kill them! Frankie was lucky enough to put her lifelong hobby to actual use and was able to – partially – kill that thing.

Frankie eventually stopped screaming when it became too painful to continue, her throat raw and adding to the rest of her agony.

And that _thing_. That damn desk clerk. Was she always a ghoul, or was she… _eaten_ by the ghoul after they met? Frankie didn't want to find out. And what was that it had said? "What your daddy did to our father." What did it mean by that? Did John… kill the ghoul's father? Did John kill monsters often? Was… was the thing that attacked her mom… a ghoul, too? John decapitated it. That would certainly mean…

Frankie buried her face in the pillows again, but her next attempt of screaming was a near silent groan. Yesterday John was alive and normal. Now he was a dead monster killer. Her life was truly fucked up after all.

She tried to calm herself. She didn't know John was a monster slayer. She didn't know that the thing was truly a monster. Maybe it was just a magician with a sick sense of humor. That didn't cheer her up any more than if it were a ghoul, because that meant she killed a human being.

She curled herself into a ball. What the hell was her life coming to? She came up here to ask John to spare a kidney. Now she was dealing with murder and killer brothers and half of her damn ear bleeding out. What a shit storm of a day.

Maybe it would have been better if she had just stayed home never knowing about the existence of her brothers or the state of John. Maybe it would have been better to never know that monsters existed, _truly_ existed. That would make her hobby less interesting, sure, but a lot safer.

After stewing in her own thoughts for however long it had been – she couldn't comprehend time around her, let alone her own sanity – she decided to change out of her bloodstained clothes and into some comfortable sweat pants and a dark red shirt. She didn't go to sleep, though. How could she? Instead, she tried to read something that didn't have any supernatural beings in it, but every sentence she read was futile. The image of the manic beast kept coming to the forefront of her mind.

She decided there was no escaping it. She fished out one of her mother's old notebooks and flipped to any pages that mentioned ghouls. Surprisingly, there were many pages mentioning them. She apparently took a particular interest in them when she was nine and wouldn't shut up about them.

She even managed to chuckle. She remembered talking to her mother about a few of the facts. She recalled a particular instance when she was lying by the fireplace with her nose in a book, mindlessly chattering on about the many different interpretations of ghouls by region and geology. Her mother was sitting in her favorite chair, scribbling away and marking each fact with which location around the world the fact corresponded with. It managed to bring a nostalgic smile to her face.

Since very early on into her interest, she knew that it was more than likely true that mythical creatures didn't exist. Kids made fun of her, bullied her to no end, and called her a freak just like the ones in her books. The words hurt, but she always found comfort in old tales of werewolves gobbling up livestock. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't excited behind her fear. A lifetime of researching these creatures and now there was a good chance that they were all really out there. What cryptozoologist wouldn't be excited by that?

As a kid, she would stay up at night, praying – of all things – that monsters and beasts of ancient lore were real. Now it seemed like her prayers were answered.

She flinched at the bright shine of a car passing by her window, but she otherwise ignored the world outside the motel room. It was much too… _uncertain_ for her tastes at the moment.

She couldn't ignore the loud knocking at the door, though. Her entire body seized up at the resounding noise, causing her wrist and various bruises to twinge with pain. She snapped her eyes to the door as she pressed the notebook to her chest as if to protect herself from whoever or _what_ ever was behind the door.

She gulped when the knocking came a second time, this time harder. It managed to shake the mirror on the adjacent wall. She wasn't ready. She wasn't prepared to sprain another wrist, to bruise another eye, to lose another half of her ear! But the knocking insinuated whoever was behind the door was not patient and would most likely break down the door to get in.

She flicked her eyes down into her bag. The now bloodless machete lay in waiting for its next task. She clutched the handle and lifted it out of the duffle bag. She didn't want to use it, but the situation left her no choice. If she must, she will.

She stood to her feet, holding the machete behind her back, as three more hard knocks pounded on the door. She reached for the doorknob, her heart buzzing in her chest, not ready for death, but ready for a fight. Well, as ready as it could be.

She opened the door.

She was pushed back into the wall by the door as someone entered into the room. Panic rose in her chest. The unknown knocker was now an intruder. A possibly dangerous intruder. The door was closed for her, leaving her to press herself against the wall in defense.

However, when she finally got a look at the intruder, she found that it was instead two intruders, and they were hardly unknown. Sam and Dean stood in the center of the room. For some reason, seeing the two brought her a good bit of relief. She was glad to see them instead of another ghoul. She sighed in relief and let her arms drop to her sides.

In a startling instant, her machete was snatched from her hand. She snapped her head over to Dean who now held her _mother's_ machete in his own grip. She reached for it as she shouted up at him. "Hey! Give that ba-!"

She was cut off by the barrel of a gun being pointed directly in her face. Her hands shot up in defense as a new panic soared up her spine. When she tried to voice her frightened confusion to Dean, she was halted by his no-nonsense scowl that was shooting through her eyes. She gave a quick look behind her to Sam to see if he'd call off his brother, but he was wearing a very similar glower.

She looked between the two with a brand new feeling of fear enveloping her.

"So let me get this straight," Dean rumbled, lilting his form in a lax manner, gun still glued onto Frankie. "You thought you'd walk on in and put on this innocent _'John's long lost daughter needing a kidney'_ crap without us having any suspicion whatsoever." Frankie's eyes snapped back over to Sam for some sort of help, but he had a purposeful duty to guard the door so she wouldn't escape. Smart. "And _then_ ," Dean continued, instantly bringing her attention back, "you unleash hell on a ghoul's neck and just assume we won't think anything of it? That we wouldn't notice the fact that you know how to kill something that's not supposed to exist?"

Dean had been lazily pacing back and forth while keeping her well in his sights. Then, he stopped right in front of her again with a humorless smirk placed on his hard stare. "So, the way I see it, you have two options: tell us who the hell you are…," he paused to click the hammer of his gun, his smirk fading back to a frown, "or we'll get the answer out of you ourselves."

Frankie was looking death in the face a second time that day, though somehow this time felt more threatening. Dean's glare was petrifying. She was too scared to move an inch let alone speak up after that _rousing_ speech he just gave. Godammit he was intimidating! She didn't dare to look back at Sam in fear that he, too, had a similar look to him. He was supposed to be the rational one and if he had the look Dean was giving her then there would be no hope for her.

The ticking of the wall clock seemed to go much slower with them in the room now. It would only be seconds before a bullet was put in her skull. She wouldn't think they'd kill their own sister, but then again she didn't know them at all, did she?

"L-Look," she finally sputtered before her mind even gave a thought to what she would say. "I honestly h-have no idea who you think I am, but I s-swear I'm not. I swear I'm not."

"Well, _sweet cheeks_ , I really don't recall asking who we think you are. I'm asking who _you_ think you are." Frankie gulped at his gruff voice. If she thought it was intimidating before…

"I-I told y'all who I was! I'm Frankie Pearce! I'm John's daughter! I swear!"

"I'm getting really tired of hearing that story," the rough man grumbled as he shifted his weight on one leg.

"It's true! I-I don't know what else you want me to say!"

"I _want_ you to say what we all know. I _want_ you to admit that you're a hunter."

Frankie scoffed in his face despite there being a gun in her own. "Hunter? I couldn't ever bring myself to kill a _mouse_ let alone anything big enough to hunt!" She risked a humorless chuckle to the two men. "I'm telling y'all the truth. I really am John's daughter. I really am your sister. I really just came up here to find John for his kidney alone. That's it. I went into the house to help Adam and Kate. I had no idea that their attackers were _ghouls_. I had no idea ghouls actually _existed_. I just acted out of fear. I really am a normal girl. A stupid, stupid normal girl. I really am. That's the truth. I swear that's the truth."

Her brows furrowed in confusion when she registered that her cheeks were wet. Thin streams of hot tears trickled down to her chin and dripped off as she cowered under her brother's gaze. Great. She was crying in front of the man who was probably going to end her right then and there. She really was a wimp.

Dean's eyes flicked to the man behind her. She didn't move a muscle. When his eyes returned to her, he had lifted her machete in his hands up. "How do you explain this?"

Frankie took a second to swallow to regain her voice. "It was my mother's. I found it while going through her things."

Dean took a moment to gaze down to the weapon. He shifted it from side to side and slid his thumb over the blade. Looking up, he tossed the machete across the room to Sam who caught it as if he expected it. "Silver," Dean grunted to Sam.

"Guess that checks shifter off the list," Sam piped up for the first time. "So if you're not a hunter and you're not a shifter, and if you really are a _'normal'_ girl," Frankie turned around to look Sam in the face, "then how'd you know how to kill that ghoul?"

"Well…," Frankie started. She couldn't tell how they would react to learning about her hobby. What would happen if they found out about her knowing so much about ghouls and other monsters? The uncertainty gave her a shiver, so she chose to go with the other reason why she decapitated the ghoul. "My mother always told me about the attack she experience in the bar and how John sliced off the attacker's head. I… I dunno. It seemed like a surefire way to get rid of it."

"Is that so?" Dean's voice called from behind her. As Sam's head lifted towards his brother, Frankie turned to see that Dean had one of her mom's notebooks in his hand.

"D-Don't touch those!" she exclaimed. She was once again met with the barrel of his gun.

"Not a hunter, huh?" he growled. His eyes then scanned the pages in his fingers, reading aloud what he saw. "'Ghosts are repelled by iron. Killed by burning the corpse or belongings.'" Frankie didn't like the sound of his voice. She also didn't like the feeling of Sam's footsteps getting closer. "'Burning saffron blocks a vampire's scent.' 'Shapeshifters have a retinal flare.'" Dean snorted unsmilingly before looking up to Sam and lifting the notebook in his hand. "' _Demons_.'"

Dean tossed the notebook onto the bed as Sam made it obvious with his footsteps that he was standing right behind Frankie. A quick look behind her confirmed the assumption. He stood at his full height, crossing his arms, as he glared down at her. His eyes were very different from the ones she knew earlier that day.

A look back to Dean made it clear that they were trying to corner her to the bed. As she backed up, her legs stopped against the mattress and she fell back. "Look, whatever you're thinking… a-about me being some kind of hunter…" She brought her legs up onto the bed and scurried as nonthreateningly as possible away from them, but it was to no avail. "I'm not! I-I don't _hunt_ those things if that's what you're thinking!" Sam and Dean slowly drew closer on each side of the bed, trapping her against the headboard, their deep scowls stabbing daggers of fear into her chest. "Th-There's a perfectly understandable reason for why I have those notes! I swear!"

"Oh, I'd love to hear that reason," Dean sarcastically drawled. Frankie swapped her sights between both of her threatening brothers and involuntarily put on a helpless expression.

"You guys probably won't believe me at all…"

"Try us," Dean barked, making Frankie flinch. She decided that she might as well be honest with them. If they didn't believe her then she'll most likely die. It was probably for the best anyway. She wouldn't have to live with the memory of the horrific night she was experiencing.

"I'm…," she choked out before sighing and closing her eyes. If she didn't see them, it made it slightly less frightening. "I'm a cryptozoologist." The silence that followed was either really good or really bad. "I study mythical creatures. I have since I was little. Those notebooks belonged to my mom. She wrote down certain things so she could keep up with what I was saying. I brought them with me for… for sentimental reasons. I read them for comfort. Sorta… like she's almost around, y'know?"

The silence dragged on. She was at first too scared to open her eyes, but what was scarier than seeing them coming was not seeing them coming. That image pushed her to finally see their reactions to her completely phony-sounding explanation.

"You're right. I don't believe you," Dean muttered, glaring down at her with his arms crossed.

"Wait," Sam butted in. Frankie looked over to him and was relieved to see that his scowl wasn't nearly as intense as it was before. "Is cryptozoology that… ' _stupid hobby_ ' you were talking about?"

"You're not really believing this, are you?" Dean groused, glaring tiredly at his brother. Sam shot him a look that clearly meant for him to shut up and looked back down to Frankie with an expecting gaze. All she could do was nod her head up to him.

Sam took a few moments to think to himself. After setting his eyes off to the side to weigh her words, his sight caught something in her duffle bag. He sent her an inquiring look, almost as if he were asking permission to go looking through her stuff. If that was what he was doing then she couldn't be more grateful to have him as a brother.

She nodded once again. He then reached over the bed to grab something that was sticking out of her bag. It was a book, one of her older ones about the history of cryptozoology. She tried to relax a little as he flipped through the pages of one of her favorites – also one of the most convenient books he could have picked up. She then looked over to the side. She was a bit relieved to see Dean glaring at his brother instead of her, but that changed as soon as she noticed it. Her head snapped back to the mattress.

"Look," Sam uttered, handing the book to Dean. Her other brother had no respect for an older copy of literature and snatched it right out of his grip. He lifted the book up to his face, only looking at the two pages the book was open to, mostly because a gun was in his other hand and he couldn't exactly flip the page.

"Okay, so you study monsters. That doesn't mean you're not a hunter," he snapped, practically throwing the book back into her bag.

Somehow Sam's understanding behavior gave her the bit of confidence she wished she had back when she cried earlier. "You saw me try and kill that thing back there," she argued, sitting up a little straighter on the bed. "I didn't get halfway in before I sprained my goddamn wrist!" she added, lifting her wrapped arm up for him to see. "Don't you think I'd be able to give a clean slice if I were experienced?" Dean tried not to show it, but she could see in his eyes that he knew she had a point.

The room drifted back into silence. It seemed like Sam and Dean had calmed down a decent amount. Frankie didn't think they thought she was a hunter or a monster of some kind anymore – at least she hoped they didn't – but that didn't make things less uncomfortable. They were now left standing in the middle of her motel room having traumatized her in their accusations. She wanted to ask them "Now what?" but that hardly seemed doable with her still shaky voice.

"Um… Frankie?" Sam spoke up softly. When she looked over to the man, she saw that he had lowered himself as much as he could so that he wasn't as intimidating. "Would you give us a minute? We'll be just outside, so just stay right here and we'll be right back, okay?"

"Would you stop talking to her like she's some kid? She's a damn adult for crying out loud," Dean grumbled as he made his way over to the door. Sam sighed at his brother's attitude and made his own way out the door. Before Dean left, however, he stopped himself and walked over to the window. He drew back the curtains, turned to give Frankie one last glare, and finally walked out the door.

Frankie, now left alone in the room, looked out the window to see Sam and Dean standing right outside like he said. Dean apparently opened the window so he could see her, not so she could see them, because that was exactly what he was doing. After getting his fill of staring her down through the glass, he then turned to argue something over with Sam that Frankie couldn't hear much of. It must've been a touchy subject due to the slowly increasing volume of the conversation.

Frankie took the new alone time to mull over what had just happened in the last few minutes. Her new brothers really charged into her room and threatened her life because they thought she was a monster hunter. Were they really going to kill her if she was? Did they have something against people who hunted monsters? That wouldn't really make sense. Sam killed the other ghoul, right? Didn't that sort of put him under the monster hunter list?

Frankie felt utterly exhausted. It had been a long ass day and she felt like she deserved to rest. After all, she had a long journey back home. She didn't have any business traveling the states if there was nothing to look for. If she hurried back maybe the position at the bar would still be open. She sighed. She didn't want to think about home just yet. She hadn't anticipated going back for a long time.

Just as she started mulling over her trip back home, Sam and Dean reentered the room. Dean didn't look too happy, so that was just great. "Pack up. We gotta hit the road." Frankie had to blink a few times up at him to register exactly what he had just said.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said pack up," he repeated as he shoved her machete back into her bag. Frankie felt like asking what he said again before Sam butted in to explain for her.

"Uh, we've decided that we're going to take you to a friend of ours," he explained softly, picking some of her clothes up from the floor and placing it on her bed. "We know him really well. He's practically family. He lives just about an hour and a half from here. We thought that it'd be best for you to stay with him for a little while. Y'know, until you heal up."

Frankie looked into his eyes with a smile threatening to creep onto her face. Sam knew just what to say. Just when she was starting to dread the journey back to her empty house in her lonely home, Sam swoops in and gives her a place to stay, not just for her to heal, but for her to not be alone. He knew what he was doing. Even if that wasn't his intention, it was still his action, and she couldn't be more grateful for it.

"Thank you," she muttered in an almost whisper. Her face slowly split into a soft smile. Sam, despite having murder in his eyes merely minutes ago, returned the smile and offered to help her pack since she had a bum hand. She welcomed his help with open arms, feeling a lot less scared of him now that he was smiling instead of killing her with his eyes.

Dean had let out a dramatic sigh before mumbling something about making a phone call. After packing her bag, Sam went with Frankie to check out of her room. On their way back to the Impala, Frankie saw Dean leaning again his beloved car, not so much glaring anymore, but just looking tired. She could understand that feeling.

Sam took her bag and put in in the trunk of the car while Frankie approached the door to the backseat. She gave a hesitant look up to Dean, who was leaning against the driver's door just next to the door she was opening. She didn't smile at him as she crouched into the backseat. She did smile at Sam, however, when he entered the passenger seat. Dean gave another huff before crawling behind the wheel and taking off to the unknown friend she would be staying with for the next few days.


	6. Chapter 5 - Protection

Frankie awoke with her back cramped and her cheek lined with drool. She kept her eyes closed, trying to hold on to that sweet, sweet slumber that welcomed her with open arms. She wanted it back. She wanted to sleep for a thousand years or more. She didn't think it unfair to ask for that.

Panic spiked in her mind, however, when she realized that she was in a car. A moving car. Which meant that a stranger had picked her up and was driving her somewhere that she couldn't remember and she couldn't remember who she met and she couldn't remember where she asked them to take her or if they even let her ask or if she was knocked out first and thrown into the car! She didn't dare to open her eyes in fear of who she'd see.

A cough from the passenger seat sounded familiar. Her brain then finally made the connection before she had a straight up panic attack. She was in Sam and Dean's Impala. Right, they were taking her to their friend's house to stay while she healed up. The latter point became more apparent when her ear started to hurt due to her sleeping on it.

She was able to relax again with minor shifting to alieve the pain. Despite the aching from her injuries, the backseat was rather comfortable. They seemed to keep the car in pretty good shape.

She found her current situation to be rather calming in a way. The seats she was lying on were comfortable enough. The AC was blowing across her bare skin, giving it a slight chill. She opened her eyes just enough to watch the passing lights of fellow vehicles on the road from outside the lightly wet windows. It must have rained.

She wondered how long she had been asleep. She recalled Sam mentioning earlier that their friend lived an hour and a half away. They were still on the road and it was still as dark as it was when they left, so she had either been out for an hour or half of one. Maybe more, maybe less.

However long she'd been asleep before, the low rumble the Impala was making acted as a soothing lullaby in a strange way. It sounded safe despite it being completely alien. The quiet gurgle of the car seemed to fill her mind and soften all of the interrupting thoughts from her crude alertness. Listening to its muffled purr orchestrated her eyes to lazily close once more, promising to lull her back into her much needed sleep.

Her eyes twitched at the jarring cleared throat from the driver's side. She tried keeping her eyes closed nonetheless. "So, we need to talk," Dean's voice whispered. His words were obviously directed towards his brother. Frankie could tell this not only due to his voice being low so he wouldn't wake her, which seemed more nice than he would normally treat her, but also due to the softer, less condescending tone in his words.

Sam took a while to respond. At first, Frankie thought Sam was asleep and that maybe Dean noticed that she was awake and was talking to her. She nearly opened her eyes to see if that was what he meant, but she was stopped by a soft sigh from Sam's side.

"About what?" he asked in a manner that indicated that he knew exactly what.

"You know _what_ ," Dean clarified. "About _Briar Rose_ back there."

Frankie felt a small jolt at the mention of her. She shouldn't be surprised. If they were going to talk about anything as a result of recent events, surely she would be the hot topic. Knowing that Dean wanted to talk to Sam about her, she felt like he intended for it to be a private conversation, and, despite her curiosity, she didn't want to eavesdrop, but revealing herself to be awake might be more awkward than pretending to be asleep. She decided to throw caution to the wind and listen in anyway.

"What about her?" Sam whispered tiredly. She could tell that he didn't want to have the conversation with his brother.

"How about, what is it that we're doing here exactly?"

"What do you mean? We're bringing her to-"

"I _know_ who we're bringing her to, Sam." Dean's voice threatened to break from its whispered state, but he quieted it down with a light huff. "I mean why are we even giving this chick the time of day?" Sam gave a sigh from the passenger seat. "What is it with you around her? Why are you so… so _comforting_ and _understanding_ with her?" Sam sighed again at his brother. "It's sickening, man."

"She's our sister, Dean."

"And you know that how exactly?" Dean countered. Sam went to respond, but Dean cut him off. "Because she told you so? Did it ever occur to you that she could be _lying_? I mean what if she's a demon or something, huh? Trying to get intel on us stopping the seals."

"You tested her for that, remember? Holy Water didn't work on her."

Frankie put her prying to a momentary halt. Wait. Demon? _Holy Water_? So this was actually real. Monsters were actually involved in their life? They must be delusional… right? She couldn't pick a side on whether or not she would be entirely glad about it.

"Okay, so she's not a demon. That doesn't mean she's not working for one."

"Dean-"

"I just don't understand how you can be so quick to trust her. You know we can't have trust in our line of work!"

"I _don't_ trust her, Dean. You're right. We don't really know that much about her, but she's not a demon, she's not a ghoul or a shifter or a werewolf. She's not a monster. And, you gotta admit, she's not the most _durable_ person in the world."

"Yeah. That's called _acting_ , genius."

"Or it's called a genuinely normal human being who was in the wrong place at the wrong time." Dean was quiet. "Do you really think she'd go out of her way to sprain her wrist and get half of her ear chewed off if she were just trying to get intel?" Frankie felt her ear throb in response.

"Look, I just got a weird feeling about her. No one calls to say they're the illegitimate child of a dead hunter. That's just something that doesn't happen."

"She didn't know he was dead. Or that he was a hunter. Or that monsters existed!"

"And there's something else I don't get!" Dean exclaimed. Sam shushed him. The way the hush carried in the car sounded like he looked behind his seat to check if she was still asleep. She tried to stay perfectly still. "She _claims_ to be a crypto-whatchamacallit or whatever and knows all about monsters, but she's completely unaware that they actually exist? Tell me about _that_ logic."

"Well, I'm sure she studied them for the cultural and spiritual impact on society. She seems like a smart girl. I'm sure she didn't _really_ think they were real."

"Well I think it's safe to say that ship has sailed." Dean's voice made a darker turn. "Another perfectly normal human being dragged into our world. Just great." Frankie involuntarily furrowed her brows at the strangely disappointed tone to his words. "Last thing we need is another tinfoil hat _kook_ runnin' around and making our lives harder."

There was a period of silence. It led Frankie to believe that the conversation was fit to end right then and there. It left her with a few things to think about, but when Sam let out another sigh, it held promise that she'd have even more to think about.

"Well she'll be out of our lives in a few days, so we won't have to worry about her then." Frankie would have felt hurt by that statement had Sam not sounded like he was hurt by saying it. Dean must have sensed that in his voice, too.

"Great. You're attached to her now."

"No, I'm not."

"You are, Sam, dammit!" Dean slapped the steering wheel which sent the car back into a silent state. This one wasn't the same. It held unspoken words like phantoms in the air. "She could be a threat," he finally added.

"She could be our _sister_." Sam's rebuttal was as quick as Dean's, as if he was ready to throw it at him as soon as he made the move. Frankie could only imagine that the two brothers were having a similar stare down like the one in the bar.

"You sure do love saying that word, don't you?"

"Think about it, Dean!"

"Now who's being too loud?"

Sam took a second to quiet down his voice before speaking up again. "Aren't you at least a little curious about having another sibling?"

"No. One's enough."

"Well… I don't think so." Sam's voice fell from its defensive state to a more restrained one. "Family is family, isn't it?"

"Okay, look," Dean growled in his usual gruff manner. "That girl back there? She is _not_ family." Frankie felt a tug in her chest. "She's just a mistake Dad made with some broad after a hunt. She's only connected by DNA alone. That's it. She's nothing like us and will _never_ be anything like us. End of story."

All comfort Frankie had from lying in the backseat was replaced with offended anger towards the irate man in the driver's seat. Who the hell was he to call her a mistake? Sure, she was unplanned, but she'd like to believe John would be damn well proud to have her as a daughter.

"So she means absolutely nothing to you?" Sam argued. Under her anger, Frankie felt genuine admiration for her other brother. She felt relieved and grateful to have him on her side. "She's just some girl who showed up when Dad's other kid called and that's it? She's just some piece of flesh for another monster to feed on? Just another victim of a case?"

Dean was quiet before answering, "Pretty much." Sam scoffed at his answer. He took a moment to collect his fervent thoughts before speaking again.

"So you'd rather send her home to die alone, no one at her bedside as they pull her plug?"

"Oh please."

"I'm serious, Dean! I may not trust her, but I'm not heartless! If she is who she says she is then we ought to do what we can for her! She came all this way for Dad's help and I feel like we should honor that in some way."

"Well why don't you go on and give her your damn kidney if you like her so much?"

Frankie felt another jolt. How would Sam react to that notion? Would he agree to test for compatibility? It seemed like a far fetch, but with the way he was defending her it could be possible.

He was quiet at first, trying to choose what it was that he wanted to say in response. Frankie was holding her breath, waiting for his answer, but he was ultimately cut off by Dean. "She's better off dying alone in her own home than to be wrapped up in our lives. She has her own short life in Alabama. She doesn't need to get in the way of all of our crap going on!"

Silence once again made its home in the Impala. This time, it was waiting for something. Something was being held back, and it wasn't until Sam's soft, understanding voice cut through the thick air that Frankie knew what it was.

"That's why you're so against her," he said in an almost question. "You don't want her to get involved with the business." Frankie was confused and curious about what business he meant.

"Sam," Dean sighed before being cut off by his brother.

"That's _why_ , isn't it?" he urged. A small quietness shortly passed before Dean spoke again in a rougher tone.

"Did you not see what happened back there? She almost died, Sam. If you haven't been paying attention, that's what happens when people get involved with our kind of work." Frankie didn't miss the vague feeling of hurt behind his voice. "Do you really want her blood on your hands? Because that's what you'll get if she sticks around. That is, of course, if she's not a danger to _us_."

"She's not a threat, Dean. She can barely handle a weapon." Frankie didn't find offense in that due to it being true.

"Well, Bobby'll find that out for sure." So that's where she was headed. To Bobby's house. "But I know you understand what I'm saying. If she's really related to us and if she's not putting our lives on the line, then it's best to send her on her way. The last thing she needs is to be around us any longer than she absolutely has to be. Not to mention she'll be a major distraction."

And that was the end of that. Dean had the last word. Frankie would only be around long enough to heal up and then she'll be on her way. By the sound of it, there would be no changing his mind.

So that's what was bugging Dean so much. Aside from her being a possible threat to their livelihood and a stranger and a huge nuisance and a distraction, he didn't want to put her in danger. Apparently, by the sound of it, they built their lives on killing the very thing that nearly killed her earlier. Her brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester, hunted monsters and mythical creatures. Just thinking about it made her want to burst into laughter. There was no way that was real… right?

"She could be useful." She was brought out of her pondering by Sam's voice. Apparently that wasn't the end of it. After the lengthy silence, Sam finally piped up against his brother's last words.

"What?" was Dean's response to Sam's sudden suggestion.

"Well, face it, Dean. The world will come to an end if we fail at this thing and, you gotta admit, we're a little understaffed."

"Yeah, we're understaffed, because everyone else is a victim, a monster, or _dead_." The hurt undertones in his voice had resurfaced in his choice words, but they disappeared when his mouth reopened. "What we need are well trained, reliable hunters and, yeah, we're freakin' almost out of those! We don't need weak little girls. We need _hunters_."

So hunters… weren't bad? Then why'd they want to kill her if she was one?

"Well right now, all we got is Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and occasionally Castiel."

"And Ruby." The car went quiet after Dean said that. Frankie wondered why. Who was this Ruby to them?

"Yeah," Sam responded with a sigh. "My point is we've got a big issue with little help. All I'm saying is a few extra hands couldn't hurt."

"And what's she gunna do? Use herself as bait? 'Cause with her skillset that's all she'll be good for." Frankie's heart skipped a beat at the thought.

"Well she says she's an expert on monsters. Maybe that includes lore. Maybe she knows a few things about the seals." Seals? Like the animals?

"Yeah, all I'm hearing right now is ' _maybe_ '."

"Look, Dean, is it at all possible to give her a chance? Just a chance to see if she'll be of any use?" Frankie wondered this as well. She finally cracked her eyes open to look over to Dean. He had his eyes focused on the road, but she could tell from his disposition that he was thinking over his brother's words. "It just seems like that would be a better option than sending a possible chance at victory away for good." Dean tilted his head to the side, still remaining stoic in thought. It would be a few more heart-halting seconds before he actually made a move to speak.

"After we find out for sure that she's Dad's kid," he started, pausing to consider his words, "I'll give her _one_ chance. A _small_ one. And that's only because we're running out of steam. And that I wanna keep an eye on her." Frankie felt a twinge of hope and relief. She felt that finally Dean would maybe give her a damn break, even if it was a small one. "But I'm telling you for a fact that as long as she's near us she's in danger. Who's to say the demons won't pick her off first just because they can?" Frankie then frowned at the notion. That didn't seem very fun.

"As long as she's under Bobby's protection she'll be safe. You and I both know that," Sam explained, sounding more relaxed now that he got a positive word in. Dean merely sniffed and mumbled in a regretful voice.

"Yeah."

The car went wordless yet again and the sounds of the surrounding world took over. Frankie didn't feel guilty about having eavesdropped on her brothers' conversation. Instead, it gave her a different outlook on how she viewed the two. Sam was willing to carry on an argument so that his peeved brother would let her prove her worth, and Dean, aside from a few exceptions, didn't want her to be killed because of their lifestyle.

It gave her a lot to mull over, though just when she got into breaking apart the entire conversation, she remembered just how tired she had been. She decided to dissect the argument later when she was busy healing in Bobby's house. Right now, she needed to rest.

* * *

She was awakened with a jolt. Something strong clutched its iron grip on her arm. Flashing images of creatures with pointed teeth, dripping sickeningly with blood, and claws as sharp as glass projected in the backs of her eyelids. She acted in defense despite the complete feared state she was in. Her hands came up in an unthinking karate chop form to guard herself against the monstrous threat.

"Woah. Careful there, Miyagi," Dean's voice drawled from somewhere above her. She finally opened her eyes and turned her head up to see the usual scrutinizing face of the man. She sighed in instant relief. She'd later wonder why she felt relief towards a man who had previously held her at gunpoint. "Get up. We're here."

As soon as he turned away from the shaken girl, Frankie relaxed, letting her head fall back to the seats below her. All at once, memories from the day came flooding back to her, including the bits where she agreed to stay with a complete stranger for a few days. A friend of her dangerous brothers, no less. What was it about leaving her simple, do-nothing home that brought out the utter stupidity in her?

The sound of the car's trunk closing with a thunk brought her out of her dread for a mere second. Now settling with a few moments of sleep, she was able to further comprehend her shitty situation. She tried to stomach the knotting feeling that came with the growing realization that monsters exist.

' _No,'_ she thought. _'Monsters can't be real. If they were, they'd be on the news and 'caught on tape' videos online.'_

Settling with her decision on the matter, Frankie lifted herself up and ducked out of the car. She was immediately met with Sam who handed her the duffle bag in his hands. She sent him a silent thank you before he turned and followed his brother with a slight gesture of his shoulder, motioning for her to follow him.

She shook her head at the terrible situation. This could very easily be some sort of trap to kill her in a less public atmosphere. Oh well. At least she went out with a bang.

She walked up the gravel driveway to a very shady looking house. Maybe it was just because it was dark out, but it looked very… _Scooby Doo-ish_ , like it belonged on an episode involving criminals in bedsheets. The hollowed out cars decorating the front yard didn't help very much.

Dean knocked on the front door just as Sam and Frankie arrived on the porch. It didn't take long for the door to open, almost as if the person on the other side was waiting right behind it. Frankie couldn't see who was across the threshold due to her two strapping brothers blocking her view. Why couldn't she have gotten their genes?

There was a moment where no one spoke. "Where is she?" a brusque voice grumbled soon after that moment. Frankie immediately picked up on the heavy southern accent of the male voice. In unison, Sam and Dean stepped aside like curtains to reveal the frail form of Frankie, now standing in front of the supposed Bobby.

He actually looked like what most men in Hollis County looked like. He was an older man; she could tell that right off the bat due to his slightly greying beard and red hair under his worn cap. He was dressed in casual enough clothes, a dark t-shirt and jeans. Frankie wondered why he wasn't dressed in pajamas at such a time of the night, but she supposed that since he was given a call nearly two hours ago informing him that he'd have company, he'd probably chosen to dress more prepared.

His dark blue eyes scanned her form up and down in silence. She was beginning to get unnerved by the gesture until he squinted his eyes into her own. "Well ya gunna stand out there all night?" he grumbled. It was then that Frankie finally noticed that he had moved to the side to let her in. She gave a nod of thanks to him as she carefully walked into the foreign house.

The interior of the house had a much different feel to it as opposed to the outside. Aside from the fact that it was lit and visible, the décor seemed nice, despite being slightly shabby. It had lovely wallpaper, hardwood floors, and homey furniture. However, when she looked into the adjacent living room from the foyer, she noticed how cluttered the place looked. There was hardly a place where the floor around the carpet could be seen.

After she truly set her eyes to the mess, though, she saw that it wasn't garbage, but books. Dozens and dozens of books and papers surrounded the room in bookshelves, on the coffee table, the floor, and stacked beside the couch. She believed that she found someone who liked to read as much as she did.

"Sorry 'bout the mess. The call was pretty short notice," she heard the new man drawl from behind her.

"Yeah, sorry about that, Bobby. We didn't know where else to take her," Sam explained in response to him. Frankie turned back to look at the three men in the foyer with her. She noticed the indifferent glint in Dean's eyes as he stood next to his brother.

Frankie didn't like how inconvenient Sam's words made her feel – although her presence _was_ very inconvenient – and she made a move to ease the feeling, but Bobby beat her to it. "Aw, y'all know I don't got anything goin' on this time of night. I like to shake things up a bit." His smile told Frankie that he was fine with her staying in his home, but his eyes had a very different feeling in them. Frankie tried to see them a different way, but they were very much like Dean's. She knew her attempt at a smile was not very convincing.

"Now it's only gunna be a few days. Y'know, just long enough for her to heal up and make her own way back home," Dean explained, stepping in and seemingly ignoring the fact that she was in the room.

"No, I got it the first time," Bobby griped with his arms crossing over his chest. Frankie was momentarily impressed. This Bobby must be a respected figure to her brothers if he was able to snap at Dean in that tone and get off without another word. After a shake of his head, he turned back to Frankie and cleared his throat. "I'll show you where you'll stay." He motioned his head to the staircase next to them and moved to climb the steps. "These two usually use the guest room when they're here, but I guess they can deal with it."

"W-Wait, no," Frankie interjected, stopping all three men from moving another inch. Frankie regretted the confused expressions pointed at her, but what was more unnerving was bumping Sam and Dean out of their room. She really didn't need Dean to despise her more than he already did. "I don't need to use their room. Um…," she looked over into the adjacent living room and narrowed her sights on the sofa inside. "The couch is perfectly fine, if you don't mind."

"Well, it ain't _their_ room. But… if the couch is what ya want…"

Bobby took a few steps into the living room and gestured to the couch on the other side with mock gusto. "Kitchen's right there, don't _steal_ , bathroom's upstairs, one down here don't flush right, and keep the window cracked. The AC's busted. I'll go get yer stuff." Frankie nodded with a sorry excuse for a smile before sauntering into the room and setting her duffel bag down on the floor.

Once she seated herself on the cushions, she whipped the hair out of her face with a jerk of her head and looked up to the remaining men in the foyer. Her lips stretched into a thin line when she didn't see any of them there. It didn't take but a second to realize that they had gone upstairs. She supposed that Sam and Dean were settling themselves in the guest room and catching up with Bobby while he got her pillows and blankets.

Now she was sitting alone in the living room of a stranger's house. It didn't seem as bad as it could've been, though. Bobby seemed hospitable, if a little stern, and the house looked nicely decorated despite the books piling up the place, but Frankie was never one to complain about too many books.

But then she finally came to the point where she assessed what was _really_ going on around her. In one day, she discovered that she had three brothers, was attacked by someone that ate a chunk of her ear and magically turned its body into an exact copy of her own, murdered that person, found out that two of her brothers were psychos and held her at gunpoint, learned that they hunted things like the person that attacked her and claimed that they were monsters, and took her to a complete stranger's house in the middle of a junkyard. Yup. Things were looking _great_ for her.

She fidgeted her fingers in her lap. Her knees were locked together, shaking as nervousness finally shrouded over her shoulders like a shawl. She was in an alien environment with alien people in an alien circumstance. She was missing half an ear, could only properly use one hand and could barely see out of one of her eyes, and now she was supposed to stay in a stranger's house while she healed. No, not supposed to. She was _expected_ to stay there.

It wasn't like she had a car of her own to take out of this place. Sure there were many vehicles surrounding the property, but something in her told her that she wouldn't have much luck getting them to work. She was pretty sure cars needed wheels to go.

She couldn't tell Sam or Dean that she wanted to leave. Sam would probably insist that she stay there for her own good. Dean would probably kick her out at the first suggestion, but Sam would stop him. And Bobby… well she hadn't known him nearly long enough to get a read on him.

Besides, as scared as Frankie was getting, she wasn't all together sure that she wanted to leave. Sure, see was in an unfamiliar environment with murderous brothers and their possibly murderous friend, but it was a helluva lot more exciting than Hollis County, Alabama. They were lucky enough to have a grave robbery two decades ago, let alone all of this happening in one day. As well as having anxiety-inducing entertainment, she wanted to get to know her brothers more. She wouldn't be around for very long to hang around them, so she would have liked to find out what they were really like.

"Alright, start talkin'."

She was shaken out of her thoughts by the voice of Bobby from somewhere in the house. She blinked out of her head and looked up to the staircase they disappeared to when she settled down.

"What's the case here? What do I need to know about her? Who is she?"

She narrowed her brows when his voice almost sounded like it came from behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she was met with the window. It was cracked, just like Bobby instructed her to keep it. She turned her body over to it to listen for his voice again, but was instead met with Sam's.

"You didn't tell him?"

Frankie was only slightly surprised when she was correct about where the sound was coming from, but didn't she see them go upstairs? They couldn't be outside. She opened the window a little more as quietly as she could manage and hesitantly stuck her head out.

"It was kind of a rushed situation. I couldn't exactly tell him her life's story," Dean gruffly answered.

She cocked her head to the side when she registered the voices as coming from above her. With some adjustments on the couch, she turned her head to look up to the second story of the house to find another window, this one also opened halfway. It seemed as though she was listening to the sounds coming out of that window from her own.

"C'mon, quit dallyin'. Tell me what I'm dealin' with here," Bobby ordered.

"Well, we don't know _exactly_ if she's a monster or not, but what we can tell as of now is that she's a normal human girl."

"And you've run the tests on her? Silver? Salt? Holy Water?"

"Yup. She's kosher. At least with what we've seen so far," Dean contributed.

"So why'd you bring her here?"

"Well, Bobby… uh… well it's kinda complicated."

"What d'you mean by _complicated_ , boy?"

"He means she claims that she's Dad's kid."

There was a lengthy moment where the room above her went silent. She chewed on her lip to see… or rather _hear_ how Bobby would react to that statement.

" _What_?"

"That's what I said," Dean uttered.

"John didn't say anything about having a daughter. He never said anything about having other kids except you two!"

"Bet he didn't tell you about his other son either, huh?" Frankie could hear Dean's slow pacing footsteps on the ceiling as he bitterly spoke.

"Other _son_?"

"Um, what he means is Dad apparently had another son he didn't tell anyone about. His name is Adam, and he lives in Minnesota. Dad supposedly never knew about him until he was twelve and was around for some of his life."

"He took him to a baseball game," Dean spat just as Sam ended his sentence.

"What? Really? _John_?"

"Yeah!"

"So… what's the story about the girl? How involved was he in her life?" Bobby continued on. Frankie felt a strange twinge in her chest from his question as well as the answer Sam gave him.

"Not at all. According to her, he never knew she existed."

There were another few wordless moments. Frankie could imagine Bobby was processing the information and could only hope Dean was calming down. "Your _sister_!" he exclaimed in a light huff. "That's… that's just… well it's crazy is what it is!"

"Well, we're not a hundred percent sure if she is related to us. I mean, she just blew in out of nowhere to say she was looking for Dad."

"Why?" Bobby asked, a serious tone suddenly coating his voice. Frankie felt the twinge in her chest again.

"Well, um…," Sam started. Frankie wondered if his face looked as awkward as he sounded. "It's a bit of a personal situation. She's sick and was looking for Dad to help her out. He was… all she had left."

"And her mom?"

Frankie's breath halted at both the mention of her mother and the sudden softness of Bobby's voice. It was gentle and almost understanding. She couldn't tell if he was directing it more to her situation or to the alluded similarities of the states of both hers and her brothers' mothers.

"Dead," Dean curtly answered. Frankie felt the overwhelming need to smack him, but she was sure his face would sprain her other wrist.

"Alright," Bobby finally spoke after a brief contemplative session. "So what is it you want me to do with her?" he asked. Dean piped back up with a cooler voice thanks to the small adjustment period.

"Just watch her, feed her a couple meals, protect her from any black-eyed bastards, and keep her away from anything that directly involves who we are or what we do."

"Uh… sorry to burst your bubble, but that's gunna be a bit hard. You do realize whose house you're in, right? I mean, look around. This house is riddled with books about our stuff, and the walls, floors, and ceilings have traps all over them!"

Frankie felt a little light headed at the mentioning of traps. Was she even safe in that house? Sam said she would be, but Bobby's words didn't seem very reassuring. She ducked her head back into the house to look around the room with scanning eyes. Now that her eyes were open, she saw weird symbols and etchings that made her heart beat faster than was healthy for her.

But nothing – _nothing_ – compared to her state when she lifted her eyes to the ceiling. She gaped, frozen on the couch, at a large circular drawing above her that was adorned with unfamiliar symbols and patterns, all overshadowed by the unsettling image of a scorpion in the dead center.

Her fingers on her good hand clutched the couch cushions like they were her lifeline. Hell, even her numb fingers made an attempt at clawing the fabric. She was just about positive that her blood pressure was skyrocketing and, for someone with her condition, that was definitely _not_ _good_.

She felt very unwelcomed there despite being personally escorted. The large symbol looked very satanic. She was going to be sacrificed for sure. Is that why they needed more hunters? To sacrifice them to Satan?! She forced her eyes to break from the unnerving emblem and snapped them to the foyer. The front door was just beyond view, but she could almost narrow her sights on it. She felt the overwhelming urge to launch off the couch and shoot for the door, but the fear burrowing in her chest and Dean's voice stopped her before she could think twice about it.

"Look, we know. But she's definitely not prepared to be introduced to our world and we definitely don't need her around to ask a helluva lot of questions about it."

"Not to mention that she'll be more alluring to demons if she knew anything about our current mission," Sam added. Okay, now she _had_ to get out.

"Alright, alright, I get it. Watch her, protect her, and keep her away from my research. Nothing I can't handle." Thankfully, their conversation seemed to be coming to an end at Bobby's last declaration. Frankie wouldn't have to feel her heart pounding with every sentence they uttered anymore. "I should get these down to her."

"Wait… that's your pillow."

"Yeah, and your blanket. You're giving her your stuff?"

"Well, I ain't sleepin' tonight, so why not?" The pause and his following tone suggested that the boys gave him a strange look. "What? There's a stranger staying under my roof. Even if she ain't a monster, I'm keeping tabs on her."

"Well, alright. But tomorrow we'll tag you out. Dean'll stay behind and watch her while you rest."

"What?! Why me?!"

"Because, _Dean_ , I need to go into town to the hospital."

"Why ya doin' that?"

"I gotta find out whether or not she's who she says she is."

"Right. DNA test."

"Well I don't see why I can't go and _you_ stay! I don't wanna babysit _Princess Comatose_ back there."

"Look. You _both_ go. I can handle a few hours without sleep. Believe me. Just… stop _bickerin'_. Night."

"G'night, Bobby. And thanks!"

"Yeah, yeah."

The sound of heavier footsteps than her brothers' walking across the ceiling presented her with a new panic. She didn't want to face the man with all the newfound fear stewing in her sweating form. She couldn't just storm out of the house, so she settled with the only defense mechanism she could think of.

She lay down on the couch, her body facing the back of the couch so she was sheltered – at least from the front – from the incoming man. She commanded her body to be as still as she could, but she wasn't sure it was working. Despite wanting to check how bad her trembling was, she didn't dare move a muscle, especially when the footsteps stopped around the entrance of the room.

In the silence of the room, she could pick up Bobby's light breathing, but it was hard to hear anything except the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

It didn't take long before the steps continued. This time they were softer and slower. She could admire that he didn't want to wake her. At least he was considerate. She was even more caught off guard when she felt a large sheet covering her. She had flinched at the sudden sensation, but if the man noticed it he didn't say anything.

He didn't lift her head to place the pillow under it. For that she was grateful. Instead, she heard him lightly grunt next to her as the sound of something soft hit the floor. She was curious as to what he did, but she could give a pretty good guess. Soon after that, Bobby's footsteps disappeared back upstairs.

After counting a hundred seconds in her head, she finally looked over her shoulder to reveal an empty room. Looking over her form, she found a large quilt lying over her. It was adorned with patches of oranges, browns, and yellows, and was very warm, so much so that it had made counting hard due to the tired relaxation coming over her. Before she gave in to her slowly gained exhaustion, she looked down to the floor beside the couch and found the pillow there, just as she thought.

She lifted it up onto the cushion below her head and dropped down onto it. She nearly let out a contented moan at just how comfy the thing was. It was obviously filled with down feathers and couldn't be more relaxing if it tried. Just thinking over how warm and comfy she was made her sleepy again.

Maybe this place wasn't so bad. And if they were members of a satanic cult, they sure did know how to take care of their victims.


	7. Chapter 6 - Different

_Frankie._

That voice. So soft, so comforting, rising her from a peaceful slumber that she hadn't known in years. The voice surrounded her, enveloping her in a joy that wrapped its warm tentacles around her relaxed form. She cracked her eyes open, peering through her lashes up at the soft brown hair that she'd know anywhere.

"Mom…," she whispered. It was a near silent salutation, a greeting from her sluggish brain.

But her eyes adjusted, and her joy split in twain. Her voice came out a lot less gentle this time. "Sam."

Her brother set his jaw with a saddened, uneased expression gazing down at her. "Hey. Sorry to wake you." Frankie, shoving down the shattering disappointment as her reality was remembered, lifted her head to take in the appearance of Sam crouching in front of her.

He was dressed in a nice black suit. He looked like he would be welcome at any corporate fundraiser or function. His hair that looked so much like her own was combed back to give a more respectable appearance, and he smelled like aftershave. He was obviously going somewhere with purpose.

"Uh, I just wanted to change your bandages before I left. I don't wanna leave you with old stained ones for the whole day and I know Dean won't do it." Despite his light bashing, his words lilted with a slight playfulness towards his brother.

Frankie didn't say anything, but instead sat up with a nod and a light inhale as the day greeted her with more emotions than she wished. She swung her legs off of the couch and presented her wrapped ear to Sam. She let him do his work, wincing only slightly. He apologized in his soft voice. She moved to smile at the gesture, but it didn't come out quite right, falling before it formed.

She wondered how it looked, her ear. Was it noticeable? Would it matter? Maybe she could grow her hair out to cover it, but maybe it wouldn't be too bad. Maybe it would just be a little nick. Like she got it caught on barbed wire or something. She could believe that. Should she ask Sam to let her see how bad it was?

"Okay," he breathed out as he pushed off of the ground to stand at his full height. "That should do it." She huffed at her missed chance, half-mindedly brushing her fingers over the fresh bandages over her ear, the light touch being muffled through the fabric. She quietly thanked him as he walked away to the kitchen.

Frankie yawned in an attempt to expel her remaining tiredness from her body. Why was she so tired? She must have gotten a full slumber with the amount of times she drifted in and out of sleep. Her head turned to the right. And there it was: a window with a dark purple sky just waiting outside. It must have been five in the morning! Why would Sam wake her up at such an hour?

He appeared back into the living room with the sound of jingling keys. Her head whipped around to wave a few strands of her hair in her face. "Yeah," he sighed, lazily gesturing to the window she was obviously looking out of. "Sorry about waking you up so early. It's just that I gotta be there early, and I didn't wanna leave you with old… y'know."

"Yeah, I know. I-It's fine, though. I don't mind." Frankie's voice came out scratchy and languid, which contradicted her words. Sam sent her an apologetic half-smile. "Go back to sleep. I'll be back later."

Frankie's eyes followed him out the door. It wasn't until she heard the new sound of their Impala revving up that she wondered where Dean was. Weren't they supposed to go together? Oh, well. No use fretting over it. They must have made a deal or something.

Despite Sam's instruction and her overall want for it, Frankie couldn't go back to sleep. Talking to Sam triggered her memories from the night before, from the moment she exited the car to the moment she collapsed on the couch to the moment fear was one of the last things she felt. Hesitantly, her eyes drifted up to land on the circular emblem on the ceiling. She involuntarily gulped.

How could she have slept knowing that thing was above her? What if they had done rituals on her while she slept? She did feel a little drained. Could they have muttered some sort of spells over her while she was out and sucked out her energy?! Well… her drowsiness was probably due to her sleeping so much in the last twenty-four hours, but still.

What the hell was she doing? Why would she agree to stay here? Did her mother teach her nothing growing up? She was drilled over and over again _not_ to talk to strangers, _not_ to get in a stranger's car, _not_ to stay with someone you don't know, _especially_ if they have strange drawings on their ceilings!

God, she was getting ahead of herself. She didn't know that symbol was satanic… but she didn't know that it wasn't. And if it wasn't satanic, it could still be bad. She didn't know, and she wasn't sure she wanted to stick around long enough to find out.

Switching her gaze from the symbol to the front door, an overwhelming need to run came over her. She could do it. She could run. There was one less able-bodied man under the roof. With Sam gone, Dean most likely still asleep, and Bobby nowhere to be seen she could make a break for it. She got what she came there for. She found out where John was – sure, she learned that she had more relatives than she initially thought, but that didn't mean anything if they were deadly – and now she knows that there's no chance of getting a biological match for her kidney. Her brothers were nowhere near willing enough to accept her into their family and she didn't have a lot of time. Well, Sam seemed pretty eager to get her to stay, but Dean wasn't having it.

Then again, Dean wasn't having it because he didn't know if she was his real sister or not. He just needed to know it for sure and then she'd be part of the family, right? As optimistically as she wanted to think, she knew it wouldn't be enough. Dean offered to give her a chance if she was really his sibling, but imagining the lengths she would have to go to prove her worth gave her a headache. And who was to say that proving her worth didn't mean carving someone open and offering them to some pagan god? She didn't know anything about these men!

She lifted off of the couch before she registered doing so. Her legs took her forward as if on autopilot. The entire way to the door, her mind was racing. Should she leave or shouldn't she? Should she risk her life finding out about her brothers or get out while she could? The door was only a few feet away now. It seemed like she got her answer. She had to get out of there.

"Yer awake," a surprised Bobby called from the top of the stairs. Frankie whipped around with a forced smile on her face to hide the fact that she was about to escape.

"Yeah! Just, uh… woke up when-when, uh, Sam left." She pointed to the door behind her with her thumb. "I was actually, just, um… coming up the stairs to use the restroom, but… b-but I just realized that I don't have to go anymore so-so I'll just… uh…"

Frankie hurried back into the living room before she could do any more damage than that fantastic display of inadequacy under pressure. She brought her good hand up to her face to cover the embarrassment present there. "Hey, uh…," Bobby called from the bottom of the stairs, looking over her in slight concern, "you feelin' alright? You seem kinda… jumpy."

Frankie plopped back down onto the couch, disappointment in herself dropping onto her shoulders the minute her butt hit the cushion. "Oh, sure! I'm just…," she didn't mean to trail off, but she did.

"Right," the man said. He took in a deep breath before looking over to the kitchen. "You want somethin' to eat? You must be pretty-"

"Hungry?" Frankie blurted, followed by forced chuckling. "Yeah, I'm pretty… I could use something to eat. Breakfast sounds great!"

Bobby's eyes scanned her for a different reason than the night before, but through the entirety of his gouging stares she remained frozen in her not-convincing-at-all grin. Eventually, he nodded his head, took in a breath as if he was going to say something, and then retreated into the kitchen without another word.

Frankie's hands found her face again. She didn't care if her wrist was burning with pain, her embarrassing awkwardness burned hotter. Not only did she fail miserably at escaping, she also humiliated the hell out of herself in front of a perfect stranger. Bobby must think she's some kind of freakish… freak! Maybe he was second guessing having her in his house. _She'd_ second guess herself.

The sound of sizzling food on a hot stove didn't fully reach her ears until the all too familiar smell of an all American breakfast floated into her nostrils. She couldn't explain it, he couldn't explain it, and no one could ever explain it, but the scent of a classic American breakfast simply had the capabilities to sooth the mind of a frazzled soul. In no time, the embarrassment that had washed over her was washed away. The fear that had pressured her was pushed to the back of her mind to be dealt with later, but now the mind was made clear in the hopes that bacon, eggs, and pancakes would soon be in store for her gurgling stomach.

She leaned back in the couch with closed eyes, her hands dropping down onto her lap. _'Calm down,'_ she commanded herself. _'That's it, girl. Calm down. We'll get through this. We'll figure this out. If they wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Now we're gunna have a great breakfast, make up for that horrid display in front of Bobby, and heal this stupid wrist. Everything'll be fine. We just need to calm the hell down.'_

She gave herself a while to do just that. She cleared her mind to the best of her abilities, and when she reopened her eyes, the room was colored in a symphony of orange. She turned her head back to the window. The sun was up. It really was beautiful in South Dakota. She smiled, enjoying the wonderful feeling that came with a sunrise. It had been so long since she'd seen a proper one.

She got her fill fairly early on. She was determined to see many more sunrises. This one would not be the last. She'd make sure of that. She instead turned her attention to the floor. While the carpet below her was nice, her eyes were drawn more to the stacks of books that lay beside her sneakers. She narrowed her eyes on the stack and decided that Bobby probably wouldn't be finished with cooking for a while.

She looked around the room before she plucked the topmost book from the pile. She set it in her lap. The cover was old and weathered, obviously from continuous use. She opened it halfway. At first it didn't look very special, but then her eyes widened when she realized what she was looking into. The word that stood out the most was "vampire." Flipping the pages of the book, she found that the whole thing was chalk full of vampire stuff, everything she had come to know from her research over the years from their retractable fangs to their weakness to dead man's blood. Every other page had a different depiction of vampires based on sightings or beliefs, but one thing was for sure and that was that there were way more details than in her usual books.

She didn't think it to be true, but she wondered if Bobby, Sam, and Dean were actually cryptozoologists. Looking through a few more books strengthened this thought. Ghosts, rugaru, shapeshifters, witches, they were all there. There were even cryptids that she had never heard of before, but she very much wanted to study them.

The next book she picked up was different than the others. The cover read "Key of Solomon." Wait, _that_ "Key of Solomon"? She frantically flipped the book open and skimmed through the pages that she had only dreamed of looking at. Years spent trying to get her hands on the real deal and here it was, _in her hands_! And what a strange place to find a copy, in a friend of her half-brother's house.

But then she froze her skimming. She swore she saw something familiar. Something… unwelcomingly familiar. She at first thought that there was no way it was there, but the thought halted as soon as she found the page it was on. Welp, there it was: a drawing of the very symbol that rested above her. She looked up at it, distrusting of its presence. She then lifted the book up in the air to compare the symbols. There was no mistaking their similarities. They had the same circle, the same lines, the same etchings, and the same scorpion in the center.

The fear in her chest resurfaced, but it wasn't nearly as severe as before knowing that she now had an explanation to it. She brought the book down into her lap. She looked down to the writing underneath the picture. She barely registered the symbol being identified as a pentagram due to her eyes drawing to a specific pair of words.

Devil's Trap.

She went to swallow, but her throat was so dry that she couldn't. Her eyes burned into the two words. Devil's. Trap. So that's what that was. These guys were the real deal, huh? They made an everyday sort of thing out of these things. They spend their days trapping the Devil before supper and then sit down to watch Saturday night football on the ol' TV.

Frankie leaned her head down in between her knees to try to control her breathing, feeling a little lightheaded. But she didn't need to be, right? They trapped the Devil… or devils? Demons, probably. They talked a great deal about demons; not that that made things better. They were probably the good guys! Maybe saving the day just _looked_ scary. After all, Bobby did have all of these books about monsters lying around. Maybe that meant he studied them like she did. Would that be why Sam and Dean brought her to him? He did mention his research. What if he was researching monsters? Maybe he was looking out for things like that ghoul that attacked her. Maybe monsters actually were somewhere out there, and maybe he… maybe he _hunted_ them!

Gears started turning in her skull. She lifted back up. They talked a lot about hunters. Frankie had no idea what to make of the word when they first mentioned it. She thought they were bad since they were holding her at gunpoint until she admitted that she was one. She then thought they wanted to sacrifice them. That was admittedly a crazy assumption. But now looking through Bobby's many books on her interests, finally thinking rationally – she giggled at the thought of any of this being rational – she found that maybe things weren't so black and white. Maybe hunters were good. Maybe hunters knew about the secret monsters that roamed among us all.

Maybe her brothers, Sam and Dean, and Bobby were men who hunted monsters.

The thought was crazy to anyone who hadn't been through what she had in the past twenty-four hours. Logic told her to shut the hell up and stick to the idea of monsters being pure fiction, but Frankie wasn't having it. She always hoped that monsters would be real. Studying them for so long will have that affect. And now, after seeing one in person, she might just get what she wished for, even if it was a dangerous and deadly wish.

So here she was, waking up in a new day and admitting to herself that monsters were real. She was even surprised in herself. She definitely was different than normal people. There would be no way any rational person in her situation would admit such a thing, but here was Frankie Pearce, supposed half-sister of two men that hunted monsters.

She sighed, deep and thorough, to calm her pulsing heartbeat within her. This surely was a sudden realization, but how else was she going to go about this? Ask Bobby if it was true? Despite the certainty that he'd rebuff the question, she made it top priority on her to-do list.

Hurried sounds of footsteps on a wooden staircase lifted her nose from out of her current book. She looked up to see Dean in a frazzled state. He was wearing grey sweatpants, a t-shirt that was threatening to become too tight for him, and he sported some fantastic bedhead.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, throwing his hard gaze into the living room. His eyes wandered for a full second before narrowing on her. She lifted a brow at his appearance. It almost made her want to laugh. Big, tough Dean Winchester looking like a college kid late for his morning lecture. It was funny.

He turned to the kitchen and scurried over to the archway, placing both hands on the threshold as he looked inside. He turned so that both Frankie and Bobby were peering at him with questions resting on the tips of their tongues. "Where's Sam?" he finally barked.

"Gone," Frankie sputtered before she knew better. Despite looking like a completely different person, his glare remained the same when pointed towards her.

"Where is _gone_?" he asked, his voice as stern as ever. Frankie was confused for the short second it took her to swap her sights between Bobby and Dean.

"Uh… the hospital I think? He walked out a while ago. I thought y'all were supposed to go together."

"Yeah. We were." Dean's voice matched his indignant scowl, now pointing in all directions instead of just her. His eyes then caught something, something that was once in the kitchen but apparently not there anymore. "Where are my ke-," he started, his face flattening out before racing out the front door. Bobby and Frankie both waited in silence before hearing a loud curse from the man that made the corners of Frankie's mouth twitch upward. He marched back inside, slamming the door behind him. "I'm gunna kill him."

"And I'll kill you if you break my door. I just got it fixed from the _last_ time he took your car." Bobby's words caused Frankie to let out the tiniest laugh, the quietest giggle. Unfortunately for her, Dean heard it loud and clear. As soon as her eyes met his warning ones, she lifted the book in her lap back up to her face to hide herself from his hard stare.

"Now what?" he grumbled mostly to himself.

"Now," Bobby started. Frankie could see from where she was sitting that he was just placing a plate stacked with pancakes on the table. "It's time for breakfast. Eat up."

Frankie closed the book with care seeing as it wasn't her own (she knew the importance of one's own possessions, especially books) and rose from the couch, stretching her arms over her head with a strained squawk exiting her body in relief. Muscles relaxed, she walked into the kitchen where Dean was already seated and piling his plate with food.

Frankie sat herself across the table where Bobby had already set her a prepared plate and silverware. He was even kind enough to set her a glass of water next to it all. She scooted her chair closer to the table as she smiled gratefully up to the man. He nodded, but otherwise didn't move from his position of standing near her. She didn't think anything of it, ignoring his proximity to focus on her grumbling stomach.

She picked up her fork and scooped up a bit of scrambled eggs. Her mouth watered just looking at it. Happily, she shoved the breakfast into her mouth, relishing in the first decent meal she had in years.

But then it wasn't so great. The eggs, while great in every other way, were incredibly salty. She scrunched her face up in disgust, but didn't want to offend Bobby. That was the last thing she wanted to do, but unfortunately he caught her revolted expression before she could hide it. "Everythin' alright?" he asked. She couldn't explain it, but his voice didn't sound exactly like he was that concerned. Maybe it was just her.

She nodded her head, forcibly swallowing as she reached for her glass of water. She took two gulps to cleanse her mouth from the lingering taste. Despite her efforts, however, she could still feel grains when she clenched her teeth. "Just a bit too salty," she explained when she was finally able to speak again.

She noticed Bobby inhale with a nod, as if he had just gotten an answer to a question he never asked. Frankie found this all very confusing. The less than concerned tone, the strange disposition, the staring-…

The _staring_. She can't believe she didn't pick up on the staring. Just like Sam and Dean had done with Adam at the diner. Why did they do that? It was so creepy! What connection did it have? The food? The water? The forks?

She glanced down to the utensil as if it had the answer. And in fact, it surely did. She recognized that metal. It was silver. _Pure_ silver, like her machete.

And that's when it hit her. Nothing and then suddenly, all at once. _'And you've run the tests on her? Silver? Salt? Holy Water?'_ Bobby had asked last night. He was testing her to see if she was a monster. Dean had answered him stating that he had indeed tested her, but he supposedly needed proof himself.

Now aware of the situation, Frankie put on a knowing face and looked between the two men in front of her. She lifted the fork up next to her face. "Silver?" she asked, her voice teeming with awareness. "Salt and Holy Water, too?" she followed up, using the fork as a pointer.

Bobby walked over to her and picked up her plate with a half-smile. "Sorry. Had to be sure."

"How'd you know he was testing you?" Dean asked from across the table with prying eyes. Frankie shrugged.

"Despite what you might think, I'm not stupid. I'm quick to pick up on when I'm being silently interrogated."

Bobby shook his head as he placed down a plate with less salted eggs. "Girl's quick. I'll give her that," he muttered as he sat down in his own chair.

Frankie went back to her breakfast in peace. Now with food she could actually stomach, she found the breakfast to be superb. It was even better than her mom's, and that was a tough competition to beat. The bacon was the perfect blend of crunchy and chewy. It took a real master of the stove to make it just right.

She was about halfway into her second pancake when she sighed contently while chewing, looking up to nowhere in particular. But she found her eyes drawing to a specific place once she had looked up. They narrowed onto two eyes across the table.

Dean was staring at her. Just… staring at her as he ate. She stopped her own chewing, watching as his cheeks continued to move like a munching rabbit's. She looked to Bobby, trying to figure out exactly what he was staring so intently at. Bobby didn't notice and continued to eat in silence. Her sight returned to Dean.

She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, but he immediately replaced the food in his mouth, all the while never breaking eye content with the girl across the way. What was so strange to Frankie, however, wasn't the fact that he was staring at her – she had grown rather accustomed to that in their short time of knowing each other – it was instead the fact that he was looking at her with no perceivable emotion.

He wasn't scowling at her, he showed no anger and he showed no indifference. He was just… staring at her. She supposed that he was just keeping his eyes on her, maybe making sure that she wasn't going anywhere. She wasn't; not while she was this hungry.

She tried to ignore it. She looked back down to her own food. She jabbed her fork into some of her eggs, but she didn't lift any to her mouth. She was severely uncomfortable eating while knowing that Dean was gazing unrelentingly at her. She assumed – or rather hoped – that he wouldn't be staring at her now that she wasn't looking at him anymore, but a few quick glances up to him proved that the answer to that was no. He was still looking at her!

She shuffled in her seat, poked at her food, and chewed the inside of her cheek in discomfort. She kept lowering her head every time she glanced back up. Soon her head was so close to her plate that she could feel the steam of the hot pancakes burn her eyes. She tried to push through it if it meant she didn't have to keep seeing Dean's weird meddling face.

Wait a minute. Wait… what was she doing? Was she really submitting to a man who was simply _looking_ at her? This was ridiculous. Where were her balls? She was better than this.

Finally she couldn't take it any longer. With a loud huff, she sat up straight and slammed her fork down onto the table. The loud clang that it made finally ceased the man's incessant chewing. "What?" she exclaimed, all seriousness present in her peeved voice. "What's with the staring, huh? What is that? Why are you staring at me?"

Dean took a moment to swallow and shrug his shoulders. "Don't worry about it." Frankie felt irritation coat her skin like an invisible film. Her teeth clenched as she glared across the table at the man. God, he was annoying. Where he was frightening just yesterday, now he was just being a child.

"Dean, stop starin' at yer sister," Bobby sighed in a very parental tone. Frankie and Dean moved their head over to the man sitting to the side. He hadn't even lifted his head up, still working through his bacon.

Frankie's head turned back to her brother, smirking with her eyes, but otherwise pursing her lips in an expecting gaze. Dean's face once again took on an angered expression. This time – though the fear was still sticking to the back of her neck – Frankie showed no sign of backing down from his glare.

Dean huffed as he rose from his chair. The scooting screech it made caused Frankie to cringe. It only made her more annoyed at the man. He dropped his empty plate in the sink before walking out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Frankie rolled her eyes at him. However, when she went to get another bite to eat, she stopped, thinking over her actions in the past minute. Last night, she would have done no such thing to him. She would have been writing a death warrant, but now she wasn't as afraid of him. Maybe it was because she knew that he was probably a good guy, hunting monsters and protecting people. Or maybe it was just because he looked ridiculous with his uncombed hair. She didn't know.

Now it was just her and Bobby sitting in the kitchen and eating breakfast. It wasn't entirely silent. There was the clinking of forks against plates, muffled chewing, and birds chirping just outside. It reminded her so much of breakfast at home, but here she was, happier with her surroundings because she now knew that it wasn't Hollis County, Alabama. It was Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

Despite her serene surroundings, her thoughts were less than calm. She looked over to the man by her side. She wanted to ask him about hunters. She wanted to ask him if hunters were what she thought they were. She wanted to ask if the three of them were hunters. However, she knew she shouldn't just blurt out the questions. After all, Dean had instructed Bobby to keep quiet about their lives. She couldn't possibly ask Bobby her questions if Dean was still under the roof.

It was at that thought that Dean came back downstairs. Looking over to him, she found that he looked more like she remembered him. He wore an average dark blue button up shirt covered by his jacket, put on blue jeans, and had his hair combed like he wears it. As well as clothes, he was wearing a gun holster. Frankie's eyes narrowed at it and she leaned closer to the table in response to it being there. Her confidence in his presence immediately hushed itself when a gun was in the room.

"I'm going out back," he announced as he opened the door in the back of the kitchen, walking outside. "Don't bother me." The door closed with another slam, but this time he had been more careful to not shake the adjacent pictures on the walls per Bobby's request. It didn't take a long time for distant gunshots to be heard from the house.

Well, now was Frankie's chance. Dean was no longer around to stop her prying questions. She looked back over to Bobby. Her eyes followed his hand as he brought a forkful of pancake into his mouth. Frankie swallowed in unison with him. _'Okay,'_ she told herself. _'Just ease on into the conversation.'_

"So," she started, pretending to cut off a piece of her own pancake. "Bobby… how ya doing?" The man looked up to her with a bland, normal expression.

"Fine. Little peeved at Dean, but I'll live." Frankie nodded her head. "What about you?"

"Oh," she muttered, a little thrown off guard when she had forgotten common human courtesy. "I'm fine, too." Now Bobby nodded in response. "So…," the girl continued, "monsters are real, huh?" So much for easing into things.

"Sure. If you believe in those kinds of things."

"Do you believe in those things?"

Bobby shrugged. "Everyone has their own opinions."

"What are yours?"

"Eh, it varies."

Frankie could tell that he was trying to avoid the subject. She went to more specific measures as she picked up a piece of bacon. "So what are your opinions on demons?"

Bobby took a moment to swallow his food before speaking again. "Everybody's got their own."

Frankie pressed her lips together. She was just going to have to try harder. "You sure do like to read." She bit off a piece of her bacon. "Interesting selection you've got in there."

"Glad you like it."

She was starting to get antsy. How long was she going to have to carry on like this? No matter what question she threw at him, he was sure to dodge it as if he knew every word she was going to say. At this point she wondered if she should bring back her bluntness from yesterday. After giving it a moment's thought, she decided that she just might. She was tired of playing games.

"So what are hunters?

"You sure do ask a lot of questions," Bobby noted as soon as the word left her mouth.

"You sure do avoid a lot of questions," she countered all the same.

They commenced to stare at each other. This time with Bobby wasn't like the ones she had with Dean. He wasn't angry at her or even doing it to annoy her. He was staring at her in cautioned curiosity. She could only wonder that he was trying to figure out what exactly she was getting at. Lucky for him, the answer wouldn't be too far away.

"I hope you don't think me too rude," Frankie began, sighing and placing her hands on the table, "but I would appreciate knowing exactly who I'm staying with. I was driven here against my wishes… and I was terrified. I'm in a place I've never been before, sharing a space with men I barely know. So, if you don't mind, just having a little peace of mind knowing exactly who I'm dealing with would be great."

Bobby set his jaw at the girl. She watched him carefully, hoping that she didn't cross a line. She didn't think she had. She was simply asking him to tell her the truth of who he, Sam, and Dean were. That wasn't too much to ask. "Please," she added, her voice quiet as she focused on the man in front of her. "Just tell me who you are."

Finally, Bobby's expression softened. Frankie looked to him with new alertness. Was he about to tell her the truth about who these hunters were? He held out his hand to her. She stared at it with narrowed brows.

"Bobby Singer. Nice to meet you."

Despite not getting the answer she wanted – not even close – she slowly smirked up at the man. He was such a smartass. She liked that. A small huff of a laugh left her before she took his hand in her own. "Frankie Pearce. A pleasure."

* * *

Frankie was sitting back on the couch, her legs tucked under her in a crossed position. A large book on Japanese legends rested comfortably in her lap. She took a small break to adjust the bag of ice that Bobby gave her for her wrist. The good thing was that the swelling was going down. Unfortunately, the pain still bothered her. Bobby had offered to get her an aspirin, but she had to spend the following twenty minutes explaining that she had to avoid most over-the-counter drugs due to her various kidney issues. The clueless look in his face still made her crack a smile over two hours later.

Now she was looking out the window. It was still fairly early in the day. Birds flew passed the house in a large flock. The melody of chirps they made fluttered through the room from the open shutters. The weight of a good book in her lap aided in her relaxation. She was very content sitting on the couch, but if there was one thing that could make it better it would be a cleaner room.

She gazed around at all the cluttered books about. The bookshelves were all full, so there wasn't much space they could go. She sighed as she closed her current book, placing it on the cushion next to her. How could he live with such a mess? Granted, it wasn't that much of a mess. Her perceptions of the issue were simply a result of boredom. She had no reason to be bored. There were plenty of books to read. It would take her months, probably years to read all the contents, but she wanted to do something with her time in Bobby's house other than sit around and heal.

Now that she was injured, a lot of her usual hobbies – like cleaning – were hindered. Now she was bedridden, but on a couch. Couch-ridden. It sure was a different and unwelcomed change of her spent time. It wouldn't hurt her to do just a smidge of straightening up.

However, she was in no place to start cleaning some stranger's house. Besides, who knows what she would find? The thought interested her as much as it creeped her out.

She lay down on the couch cushions on her side, careful not to further injure her ear. It was hard not to. Everything hurt, and she didn't have the right medication to help it. She would have to just fight through it. As badass as she felt about pushing through her pain instead of curing it, it fucking hurt!

She once again found herself assessing her surroundings. How long would it take until Sam got back? The suspense was killing her. Well, she already knew deep down that the tests would come back positive. John Winchester was her father, whether they liked it or not. What she was wringing her hands over, though, was the reaction she would get from her brothers.

Dean agreed to give her a chance if it turned out she really was his sister. She had no idea what she was in store for. She had no clue on what they did for a living, their business, or anything that connected them to monsters. She would maybe have an idea if she knew whether or not hunters were what she assumed they were. She was fairly certain, due to picking up on context clues and overall assumptions, that hunters hunted monsters, but she didn't know for sure. It would be really cool if they did. While Frankie didn't really want to kill the beings that she had been studying for years, she understood that there were a lot of bad ones out there. She had read about plenty. If they were real, of course someone had to take care of them. Maybe that was what these hunters really did. Maybe it's what her brothers did.

A gunshot echoed from behind the house. Speak of the Devil. She giggled at the tiny joke as she glanced passively at the circle above her head. She lifted herself from the couch and folded her arms over her chest.

She wondered how Dean was keeping. Despite all the horrid fear he had struck into her since she knew him, she wondered how he was doing. That must be the stupid forgiving nature of her. She wondered how he would react if she went out there to see what he was up to. He had specifically told her and Bobby not to mess with him, but she was bored of staying on the couch for hours on end.

Maybe he'd shoot her. She'd understand. She'd prefer he didn't until she saw his reaction when he realized that she was his actual sister, but, eh, what happens happens.

She closed the back door softer than Dean had and squinted through the sunlight outside. She spotted him just a walk away. She held her hands against her arms. It was chilly out. Then again, she was from Bama. Anything below 65° was winter weather.

She made the small trek over to her eldest brother. She stood – now without his jacket, his sleeves rolled up – in a solid firing stance. She assumed it was expertly done. Despite the stereotype from her state, she never fired a gun before. She kept her distance, knowing good and well not to startle a man who had a gun. She waited with baited breath as he lined up his shot to a metallic target across from him.

Three shots blared from the barrel, one after the other. Her ears rang for a few seconds before she was able to adjust her sights to the target. Three fresh bullet holes had sunk into the bullseye. Her eyes widened. He was a really great shot. Yet another reason to fear him.

"I thought I told you not to bother me."

Frankie snapped her eyes back over to Dean. He hadn't even turned around and he knew she was there. Who the hell was this guy? She shook her head, looking for the right words to say in response. "I got bored." Okay, those weren't the right ones, but at least it was the truth.

"Don't you like to read?" he apathetically asked. "Why don't you go find a nice book or something? There's more than enough in the house." He reloaded his gun and lined up another shot.

"I did read." He fired, causing her to jump in surprise and yelp from the shock. "A-And then I read some more. I wanted something else to do."

"You're already doing something. You're healing."

Frankie rolled her eyes. "It's boring," she huffed.

Dean voice went from indifferent to irritated fairly quickly. "Well, sorry that saving your life is causing you such boredom."

Frankie shut her mouth at that. He had a point, even without saying it directly. He didn't have to save her. In fact, in a way he didn't actually need to save her. He could have let her get eaten by that ghoul. It would have saved him the stress of having to keep up with her, not that he was already doing much of that, but he would have one less person to worry about. He could have shot both her and the ghoul and his problems would have been solved. But he had saved her anyway.

"Thanks." Her voice was small. She almost thought he hadn't heard her until he turned a little towards her and glanced over his shoulder.

"What's that?"

"I said thanks. For saving my life, I mean. I never said it back there."

His face tightened. His lips were pressed in a thin line and his brows furrowed at the small woman standing behind him. But Frankie could have sworn she saw something else in his glare. It was an almost softer gaze behind the rough one he put on. "Well… technically you saved yourself. I just distracted you from… well _you_." Frankie half smirked.

"I guess I did save myself. Huh." She nodded in approval of herself. The night was such an intense blur of fear and confusion that she had almost forgotten that she was the one who sunk the blade into the thing's neck. That was kind of cool of her.

"Well don't get such a big head about it," he mumbled, rolling his eyes as he looked forward. "You still shouldn't have put yourself in the position in the first place. Try not to get in trouble next time." He drew up his gun to fire again, but he hesitated. He paused to think for a moment, causing Frankie's brows to furrow, before he lowered his weapon and turned all the way around to face her. "What were you thinking back there? Going into the house when we told you to stay in the car?" he asked curiously. Frankie was almost taken aback by how non-patronizing his voice was. "What was runnin' through your head?"

Frankie stopped to look down at the patches of grass under her feet to think for a moment. She shrugged her shoulders as she looked back up to his inquiring eyes. "I heard them scream. I wanted to help."

"Buy why?" he asked, placing his gun on the makeshift table and crossing his arms over his chest. "I mean I get why _I_ went in there. I've got my reasons, but _you_?" Frankie raised a lone eyebrow. "Who are they to you?"

The girl scoffed. "Uh, they're my family, genius."

"You said you met them just yesterday. You don't even know them, yet you were willing to get hurt, even almost _die_ for them?"

"I don't have to know them for them to be my family, Dean." Even she was irked by calling him by his own name. Before continuing, she looked off to the side. Dean didn't miss the spite in her gaze. "I've known my aunt and uncle and my cousins since I was born. I hate them. I'd strangle them if I had the balls for it. But… they're my family, whether I like it or not." She brought her sights back to his eyes. He was sending her a questioning gaze. His eyes were focused, hanging onto her words as if they held a secret he needed to find out. Nice try. She wouldn't give in that easily.

She shook off the negative cloud that hovered over her and tried to find something else to focus on. His gun was the first thing she went to. "So, you're practicing shooting?"

Dean turned to look back at the weathered and beaten target on the other side of the field. He turned back to Frankie with his own raised brow. "What's it look like?"

"What are you practicing to shoot at?"

"Well, _probably_ what nearly ate you alive last night."

Frankie nodded with a hum. "That's a good thing to shoot at."

Frankie felt a jolt of shock when she heard the tiniest snort escape the man. It was quiet, almost too quiet to hear, but it was definitely there. That was new, Dean showing a different emotion than spite towards her. Granted, it was a small gesture, but it was a start to something bigger.

A small while passed before more words were shared between the two. It was Dean who uttered them. "How's your arm?' he asked, seriousness back in his voice. Frankie looked down to her bruised wrist.

"Good. Still feels like shit, but the swelling is down."

Dean nodded in response. The conversation went quiet once again. It wasn't silent at all, though. The birds had begun to sing again now that Dean stopped his shooting. A lone plane flew above them in the cloudless, blue sky. And then there was suddenly something else. Another sound that pricked their ears just enough to be registered.

It was the Impala.

Frankie and Dean met eyes once again, knowing exactly what that meant. They turned in unison back to the house and hurried over. It didn't take long for Dean to catch up to her. Damn her significantly smaller legs!

He had reached the door before her, but to her surprise he didn't slam it in her face. They entered the living room together. Sam and Bobby snapped their heads over with panic etched on their faces. The looks faded, however, to relief as soon as they laid their eyes on Frankie. However, the girl's face wasn't as calm when she saw the shotgun in Bobby's hands.

"Where th' hell were you?" the older man spat. Frankie went still at his tone. Apparently going outside to pester Dean while he practiced shooting was a big no-no.

"Out-Outside."

"Ya couldn't have told me that? We thought you ran off," he grumbled, his irritation quickly fading to mild frustration.

"Bobby, it's fine," Sam piped up as he stepped in the middle of the room. "Dean was watching after her." He turned to face his brother with a raised eyebrow. "Right?"

Frankie looked up to Dean's face to see a scowl there. "Yeah," he grunted. He extended his arms in a questioning gesture. "Dude. Why'd you leave me here?" He then sent Sam a vigorous pointed look. "And how _dare_ you steal my car."

Sam raised his other brow. "Someone needed to stay behind and look after her."

"Yeah, that's what _Bobby_ was doing."

"I'm not that hard to look after," Frankie chimed in, but it went unheard by her brothers.

Sam let out a tired sigh as he leaned on one leg. "Dean-," he started before being cut off by Bobby.

"Look, can we just get through this before y'all have another moment, please?" They ceased any attempt of bickering at his tone, but their glares stuck around for a few more lingering moments. "Sam," he continued, looking at the man in question. He gestured to the envelope in Sam's hands.

He sighed, letting all of the new negativity leak out of him as he opened the envelope and unfolded the piece of paper in his hands. Frankie's face evened out into a blank stare when she realized what was on the paper. It held the answer. It was unopened, which meant that not even Sam knew yet.

Despite knowing what was going to be on the paper, she was shaking in anticipation. She adjusted her position so she could get a good view on their reactions. Sam gazed down at the paper, his eyes scanning it for the answer. She intently focused on every feature of his face, not wanting to miss a moment of his first reaction.

Then he found it, the answer. She could tell based on his changing expression. However, it didn't give her as much luck as she hoped in knowing what he thought about it. His furrowed brows relaxed, but his straight mouth tugged the slightest bit downward. What did that mean exactly?

"So?" blurted Dean. The suddenness of his voice mixed with the steely tone made her jump a little. "What's the verdict?"

Frankie noticed Bobby clutching the shotgun just a little tighter. Sam's face rose from the paper, looking at everyone in the room. His gaze lingered on her. The room was dead quiet. She could no longer hear the birds outside as if they, too, wanted to listen in on the results. Frankie's heart was pounding so loudly in her chest that she was sure Dean could hear it. Then, Sam's entire face relaxed, his arms spread out in fake gusto.

"It's a girl."

A sigh of relief left Frankie without her even knowing it. She felt a huge weight that she never even knew was there leave her the instant his words reached her ears. As soon as the anticipating jitters left her, she snapped her head over to Dean. Her heart picked up its pounding once again.

His face was hard. His brows furrowed deeply, casting the slightest shadow over his intense eyes. From what she could see, he wasn't staring at anything in particular. His jaw was clenched, his lips set in a frown. As much as it looked like a glare, it didn't feel like one.

He didn't look angry. He looked very… almost… Frankie couldn't exactly put a word to it. It looked as though he didn't want that to be the answer, but not so that he could send her away. He looked like he wanted the answer to be no so he didn't have to… she assumed it meant she was now his responsibility, and that he didn't want that responsibility.

And then a thought came to Frankie. She was excited, so excited to meet John and the rest of her family. She was looking forward to telling them about her kidney issues so that she would maybe have a family who would help her in her direst time. She never had that. And though the thought crossed her mind once or twice, she never really took into consideration how much of a _burden_ she would be to her family.

Sam and Dean were now stuck with her. Even if they sent her on her way, even if she escaped so they wouldn't have to deal with her health issues, she would still be on their minds. They would still know that she was out there. From this moment, the very moment that Sam announced their biological relation, Frankie was tied to their saddles. She would never truly leave, and now she was stuck with the burden of being a burden to the last bit of family she had.

She froze when Dean looked down to her. There was that look again, the one from outside. Beyond his rough, hard exterior, there was a softness, a… a concern, perhaps? She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was so much more behind the mask he was wearing. She felt guilty looking at it now. What if that look was regret? What if it was hidden disgust? She would understand. She was the burden, right?

The suspense of his thoughts was eating away at her. She couldn't stand the silence around them. She needed something, anything that could get her through her worrisome thoughts. All she needed were his words, the very words he would speak after learning that she was actually his real, biological half-sister. Then she'd know how he felt, if he was concerned, regretful, disgusted, anything! She needed to know. She just needed his words. That's all she needed to hang onto.

He hummed. He sent one nod to Sam, and then he turned to walk up the stairs, disappearing to his room.

Frankie wasn't prepared for the crushing disappointment that replaced the curiosity and fear in her chest. She stood in the room, mouth slightly parted as she stared at the stairs he had walked up as he left the room. She didn't know what she expected, but anything other than that pointed look, that hum, and that quick exit of the area would have been way better.

She looked down to her feet, letting the disappointment weigh on her, when she noticed two other feet stop in front of her. She looked up to Sam. He had his usual apologetic smile on his face. "Welcome to the family," he sarcastically quipped.


	8. Chapter 7 - Lies

**A/N: Welcome back to another Frankie Friday! I just want to take another quick moment to thank you all again for your support and interest in my li'l story here! You guys really make the experience special and it warms my heart to see you guys favorite, follow, and review. Okay, that'll be all. Read on, my friends!**

* * *

Frankie always felt like she'd immediately feel relieved and part of the family once she finally met her father's side. After all, her mother always went on and on about how wonderful he was. However, that wasn't exactly how she felt. Dean had received the news that she was a blood relative as if he'd gotten a hefty bill, as if he had a huge pill he needed to swallow. Frankie couldn't help but feel like garbage because of it.

Even though she was well aware that she had only just met her brother, something she struggled greatly with was her craving of acceptance. She thought she'd get that after it was proven she was their sister, but it seemed that wasn't the case. She knew she needed to keep reminding herself that it would take time for these things to settle and fully sink in, but waiting made her antsy. She was always a patient person, but when it came to family, well… time just needed to go by quicker!

The lingering gaze Dean had sent her was still burned into the back of her eyelids even a while after Sam retreated upstairs, too. She still stood in the middle of the living room, her arms crossed over her chest. She huffed. She was incredibly frustrated at her situation: no parents, dormant sickness, brothers who she'd need to bite and claw in order to be accepted by, and staying under the roof of a stranger. Not to mention the confirmed existence of monsters crawling around on the planet.

Twitching with frustration, Frankie reverted to the only thing she could do that would calm her bugged nerves. She began straightening up in the living room. She took the stacks of books and righted them, pointing the spines towards her so that they were easily identified. She went one by one, straightening stacks and creating new stacks when there were just too many stray books lying around. In no time, her blood cooled and her nerves relaxed. There was just something about tidying up that mellowed her out.

She would push the stacks of books against the walls, opening up as much room as she could. Now with all of the clutter looking more presentable, she noted that the room looked a lot less like a living room and more of a study. She could more clearly recognize a desk and a few other accents that went under her radar. It just proved how many books there were in the room if they could conceal an entire desk!

As she was placing another book on top of a growing stack, Bobby made an appearance back into the room. He stopped in the entrance, whipping his head around the now more accessible area. "Have you been… _cleaning_ in here?" he asked, shock drawling from his voice.

Frankie didn't need to look back at him to know that he had a conflicted look on his face, ranging from mad that she started cleaning without his okay, but also glad because now it allowed more light in and made getting books a lot easier. "Yeah," she answered, "I hope you don't mind."

"No…," he mumbled, looking around the straightened room. "But… wish you'd asked me first. You don't know what I've got lying 'round here." Frankie could hear the distracted undertones in his voice as he gaze at her recent work. She was particularly interested in what kind of things he was hiding.

"Would you like me to stop?" she asked him, packing another book into a full bookshelf.

"Well, you've already started…," Frankie smirked at the man behind her. "Might as well get yer fill for now."

She stifled a small laugh at Bobby. "This is only because I'm stressed. And bored. I'll only keep this for a few days until I leave. I'll make sure to askew everything before I go."

He walked across the room and dropped onto the couch. "Well, in that case maybe you should sprain your other wrist so you can stay for a while longer."

Frankie did laugh at that. "Eh, you'd all get tired of me. Some of you already seem to be." Bobby hummed from the couch. It sounded like he was drinking something.

"Whatcha gunna do when you go back home?"

Frankie paused, holding the books in her hands. Her neutral expression fell at the mention of her going back home. When she said it the blow was next to nothing, but when the others said it, it was a reminder that she was indeed leaving soon. She'd leave behind the knowledge of monsters, the knowledge of her brothers, the knowledge of a family that cares, even if just a little bit. She hoped that learning that she was legitimately John's daughter would encourage them to let her stay, even for a little bit longer. She was family after all, and family stuck together, right? _They_ were family and they did, with their brotherly love and the family bus-…

The family business. She instantly remembered Sam and Dean mentioning it back in the car. She recalled Dean not wanting her to get involved with it, going as far as sending her home with no help from them just so she wouldn't have to join. But now here she was, truly family. Didn't that mean that she was qualified to join, too? Yeah, it kind of did! It would be unfair for them to want to still send her home after getting the DNA results. She was _family_ , and she deserved to be a part of the _family_ business, too!

Only… she didn't entirely know what it was that they did. Well, if they were hunters then that meant they hunted monsters for a living. They insinuated that it was dangerous. That certainly fit the bill. She'd have to find out for sure. But then… did she really want to get involved with the business if they were hunters?

Dean was right. She shouldn't have put herself in a position she wasn't prepared for. She tried way too hard to go out a hero that she didn't think of the consequences that could have affected other people, but everything worked out in the end. But the question was if she wanted to do that every day for the rest of her life. Well, right now maybe not, but after she trained up for it, hell yeah! That sounded badass!

"Hello? You get lost over there?"

Frankie whipped around to face Bobby. She snapped out of her own world with a shake of her head, trying to remember what it was that he asked her. "Huh?"

"I said what're you gunna do when you go back home? What's yer plan?"

Frankie's jaw clenched. She wasn't going anywhere, not if she could help it. She was determined to join this so-called family business even if it killed her, which it probably would. She decided to crap out a lie of an answer. "Try and get a job. Live as long as I can." Okay, it wasn't all that much of a lie. After all, if she stayed there with her brothers then she _would_ be getting a job and certainly _would_ be trying to live as long as she could.

"Sounds like a good plan," he nodded as he brought his beer up to his mouth.

Frankie hid the small smile that started to creep onto her face. _'Yes it is,'_ she thought to herself.

* * *

The sun finally descended in the sky, casting a golden glow in the house once again. Even with the many hours of cleaning up the study it was still pretty cluttered. She let out an exhausted and slightly pained sigh as she rubbed her wrist. Well, at least it looked a little better. She'd pick up the slack tomorrow.

In place of her relaxation from cleaning, she was beginning to get pretty hungry. She wondered what the plan for dinner was. Holding her good hand on her hip, she revolved to look out the windows of the room. Bobby left for his garage about a few hours ago. She wondered if he'd be back in time to fix dinner. She'd do it herself, but she honestly didn't think these people would eat her food if she made it. It wasn't that she wasn't a good cook – quite the opposite actually – but she was sure that they'd think she poisoned it or something.

Just for curiosity's sake, she wandered into the kitchen to check out what they had on the menu. There wasn't much. There was mostly enough for just one person. Frankie supposed Sam and Dean only crashed here every once in a while. Something he bought in bulk, however, was salt. There were boxes and boxes of it. It made sense. She knew she wasn't the only possible threat they came across.

She started sectioning off cans and bags of food that could make a decent meal for the four of them. She had trouble deciding, but lucky for her Bobby came in to help her out with it. She turned around to greet his sweating form. "What's goin' on in here? You cook, too?" he asked her, wonder in his voice at having a woman's touch around the house. She sent him a half smile.

"A little. I was just looking around in here to see what you've got." She turned back to the piles of food in front of her, leaning down to look at them closer as if it made the decision easier. "Do you like Brussel sprouts?"

"On a good day," he answered while opening up the freezer. "Gives me gas, but I like the occasional helping. Wouldn't count on Dean havin' much."

"He's not a huge Brussel sprouts fan?" Frankie asked, turning to look at Bobby from over her shoulder.

"He's not a huge _vegetable_ fan."

Frankie chuckled under her breath. "Carnivore, huh?"

"Oh, you have no idea." He pulled out a bag from the fridge. "How 'bout pork chops?" Frankie's stomach bubbled in response. She smirked as she eagerly nodded at the choice. "I'll take care of these. Why don't you fix up something to go along with it."

Frankie moved over so he could thaw and start preparing the pork chops. He was preparing them with a brine, so that gave her more than enough time to decide exactly what to serve with it. She was confused at the light pressure that attached itself to the back of her neck. She had prepared hundreds of dishes. Why was this one different? She supposed it was that damn acceptance that was slowly starting to weigh on her.

She finally decided to go ahead and prepare the Brussel sprouts with mashed potatoes. There weren't a lot of choices, but these would have to do for her new family. She lifted her head. She distracted herself from seasoning the sprouts to glance over to the man just next to her. A solemn smile formed on her face as she let out a quiet snort.

Bobby had heard it and looked around to see the look on her face. "What?"

Frankie shook her head, silently assuring him that it was nothing, but ultimately giving in. "It's just… it's been a while since I last cooked with someone." Then she recalled a bit more from the memory that turned the sullen smile into a more lighthearted one. "And now that I think about it…," she paused to laugh at the insane odds, "we were having pork chops, too!" She and Bobby shared a moment of humor at the coincidence. "What can I say? It's a popular dish in Bama."

"It's pretty popular up here, too. Fix it up with some black pepper and paprika, forget about it. You'll be beggin' for more well after yer belly's brimmed."

"Nah, nah. Cayenne pepper is where it's at. Or better yet, marinate them in steak seasoning and Italian dressing. That's how it's done."

"No kiddin'?"

Interest in the man perked up in Frankie. She never had someone she could really compare food with. She learned everything she knew from her mother and she just about didn't like anyone else in the neighborhood – with few exceptions. Bobby was proving to be nice company. He had a lot of tips for tons of different foods. She didn't have much to offer him herself, but she took in every tip and suggestion he gave her. Hopefully she would have the opportunity to try them out with him personally.

Time seemed to pass when talking to him. Soon enough, it seemed, the brine was finished and he moved to the grill outside. He had kept the back door open so they could continue to talk back and forth while Frankie finished up the potatoes, as well as some gravy while she had time to prepare it.

All the talking and smells reaching the corners of the house appeared to have gotten the attention of the two other men inside. Frankie wiped off her forehead when she heard two pairs of feet descending the stairs. She turned with the mashed potatoes dish in her hands. Meeting their faces, she could tell that they were surprised to see her there instead of Bobby.

"You cooked dinner?" Sam asked, Dean's eyes asking the same question.

"Half of it." She walked over to the table to place the dish next to the Brussel sprouts. "Bobby has the pork chops covered." Still seeing the skeptical look in Dean's face, Frankie rolled her eyes and placed her good hand on her hip. "He watched me make them, so don't think I poisoned anything."

Whether that did the trick to ease his suspicions or not, her attention was taken off of her brothers when Bobby reentered the kitchen with a plate of freshly grilled pork chops on a plate. He smiled as he greeted the boys.

"Well, you guys really went all out," Dean noted, attitude stifled as soon as he set his sights on the juicy flesh of the meat on the table.

"No kidding," Sam followed up. He then turned his words over to Frankie. "We usually just go into town and bring back the cheapest fast food they have available."

"But this works. This totally works," Dean added as he grabbed a plate from the counter. Frankie couldn't help but crack a smile at her brother's eagerness. She knew she wasn't the cause for his excitement, but it still made her feel good that she was able to help give him momentary joy out of their cooking.

They soon repeated their position from breakfast that morning, with the addition of Sam sitting across from Bobby. They each had their plates filled with pork chop, mashed potatoes and gravy, and Brussel sprouts. Well, Bobby and Sam ate the Brussel sprouts. Dean just had more potatoes. But on the bright side, Sam complemented her on her sprouts. She grinned at the complement.

After a while, the table delved into a wordless state of clinking forks and the occasional moan of approval. It was a very good dinner despite the lack of variety, but then again Frankie didn't think these guys got a lot of variety. It actually made her upset. They didn't have anyone to make them dinners like this every night. Sam and Dean usually caught the bar food and fast food chains, and Bobby seemed to lean onto meals for one. Maybe if they let her stick around she could help to give them a home cooked meal every other night. She knew that was putting the cart before the horse, though.

It did make her wonder how much she could affect their lives if she stayed. Maybe she could prepare a solid pitch to Bobby. She wouldn't stay there for free. In exchange for letting her live there with him, she could keep his house tidy and cook him meals. Also, though it was a faint assumption, she thought he seemed kind of lonely. And if he wasn't, surely he would be with Sam and Dean gone a lot. Again, she assumed that they were gone often.

One thing was for sure, despite the faults and uncertainty of living with a stranger, she didn't want to leave. She had everything she could need there. She had endless books on the things she loved, she was near her brothers, and she and Bobby had at least one thing in common that they were both fairly passionate about. She smiled to herself at the recent memory of Bobby's face lightening up when he talked about cooking.

Yup, she didn't want to leave. Call her crazy, but she was already having a blast compared to what it was like in Hollis County. But Bobby was still on board for her leaving. She wanted to know why. Why would they want to send a legitimate child of John Winchester away? Looking up at the other occupants at the table, she knew that the only way she would get anywhere would be if she asked. She sighed to herself, already knowing that it most likely would not be a smooth conversation.

"So," she spoke up, clearing her throat as Sam looked up at her. Bobby's head twitched towards her, so she knew he was listening. As for Dean, well, he was still lost in the bourbon-brined pork chop that he was destroying. "First family dinner, huh?" Sam nodded his head with a quirk of his brow, shoveling sprouts into his mouth once he did. No other interaction was made aside from that. Well, that attempt bombed. Might as well delve into more blunt matters. "So where do we go from here?"

"Go?" Dean finally spoke up, lifting his eyes and brows as he cut off another piece of meat.

"Yeah," Frankie said. "Like… I mean now you guys know that I'm not lying. I'm really your sister, so…," Sam and Dean looked at her without chewing for once, "what's next, y'know?"

Sam was the first to speak up. "Uh…," he started, wiping off his face with a napkin, "well you finish healing."

"Yeah, yeah, but after that I mean."

"What makes you think there'll be an after?" Dean asked nonchalantly as he brought the cut off meat into his mouth.

"Dean," Sam quietly warned. Frankie met eyes with Dean across the table, but there was just something about those green eyes that always challenged her. She switched her gaze over to Sam instead.

"Well, I mean… I just assumed that… I dunno," god, why was it so hard to talk to these guys now? "Since I'm your sister maybe things could be different."

"Different how?" Sam asked, his eyebrows narrowing on her. She pursed her lips. She took in a breath. Things were about to get awkward.

She put her knife and fork down on the table as she exhaled, trying to push out all of her nerves. "Like… maybe I could… I dunno. Get involved with the family busine-"

"No."

Frankie's eyes snapped over to Bobby on the other side of the table. It was the first thing he had said at the table since they first sat down. Frankie let the word sink into her skin. It burned, not in the ' _that hurt so one should learn not to provoke the situation again_ ' way, but in the irritating way that aroused determination.

"Why?" she challenged. Bobby finally lifted his eyes from his plate to meet hers. She remembered just how dangerous he might be in that moment, fun cooking partner gone.

"It's dangerous," he pointed out. "It's suicide."

"And?"

She wanted to think it was admiration for her determination behind his growing crossness, but she didn't think so. " _And_? You don't even know what it is we do and you wanna jump on the train?"

"Then tell me what it is. Let me understand y'all."

"No."

Frankie felt her temper rise in her chest, clouding it in a suffocating need to retaliate. "And why not? Because I'm not a hunter?" she argued. Bobby didn't respond to that. In fact, it was Sam who said anything in response after a small pause.

"What do you know about hunters?"

"Next to nothing! I have my suspicions, but no one has told me anything."

"Let's keep it that way," Bobby gruffly demanded, challenging any of them to tell him otherwise.

And that was that, apparently. Frankie was surprised at how quickly her overall mood changed. Dammit, she wanted this! Who the hell were they to stop her from taking part in the family business?! Well… two of them were her actual family, but that shouldn't change anything! She deserved to take part in her Winchester side. After all, her Pearce side was boring as hell.

"Maybe we should."

Frankie's entire form perked up at Sam's words. She narrowed her sights on him, her mouth parted as she gaped at him for seriousness. He was glancing down at his plate before he lifted his stare up to the other men at the table. Frankie looked to the others as well. Dean wore an unusual calm expression, almost like he agreed with his brother. That couldn't be right. Bobby on the other hand…

" _What_?!" he exclaimed, stretching his face in a shocked and disbelieving expression.

Sam continued despite the man's obvious dislike for the idea. "She'll need to know eventually. Now that we know she's legit she should know about what we do."

"Hey, y'all were the ones who told me to keep quiet about this, and now you wanna spill it all to her?" he argued. He swapped his gazes back and forth between Sam and Dean before settling on the latter that had yet to react. "And what do you think about this?"

Dean lifted his head from the dinner he was still working on. "I hate it. I hate everything about it," he said in between swallows. Frankie frowned. "But Sam's right." The frown deepened in confusion. "If we don't tell her she'll find out for herself. And that's more dangerous than telling her straight out."

"Y'all have gotta be outta yer damn minds."

"Look, Bobby," Sam added, using a calmer voice to try and sooth the fuming man across from him, "She already knew about monsters when we met her. Now she knows they actually exist. It was only a matter of time before she knew about hunters."

"Not to mention that she practically ran into the arms of a ghoul yesterday." Frankie met eyes with Dean again as he put more potatoes in his mouth, speaking with it half full as he continued. "She could at least benefit from knowing why she shouldn't try to be the hero without any training."

"Exactly!" the girl exclaimed. She partially meant for that to be in her head, but out loud and proud it was. "Sorry," she said to the three faces that pointed towards her.

The three men then exchanged glances in silence, wordlessly trying to make some sort of middle ground. It was entertaining to watch, actually, how each of their faces conveyed an emotion or thought that she could easily pick up on if she focused.

Finally, after an entire session of silent arguing, Bobby huffed, leaned back in his chair, and gestured to Frankie with a look on his face that said, "Well, go on then!"

Sam sighed, sharing a look with Dean before turning back to the girl next to him. "Frankie, hunters are people who kill monsters-"

"Ha!" she shouted. She knew it. She knew it couldn't be anything else. Her ecstatic grin was halted when Sam's face told her that she needed to calm down and listen. "Sorry."

"Yeah, uh, well, hunters hunt down monsters and save the people that they try to… well, _eat_. That's what we do."

"I knew it," Frankie blurted before remembering the look she was just given. "I knew you guys were hunters! I thought it was weird that y'all magically had guns in your hands when we got to Adam's house."

"You're not freaked out by this?" Dean asked from the end of the table. Setting her sights on the look he was sending her, she could tell that he was suspicious of her joyous attitude more than he was curious of it.

Frankie thought over his question. With her excited demeanor calming, she shrugged. "Well… at first I was, yeah, but what could I do about it, y'know? Plus, hello? I'm a cryptozoologist. This is like Christmas for me!"

"You're taking this amazingly well," Sam noted, also gaining a bit of suspicion for himself.

"What? You guys thought I would cower away? Run back to my bland home in Bama just 'cause my brothers hunt vampires and werewolves for a living? Hell no. I was more scared that _y'all_ were gunna kill me, not that monsters would."

Sam sent her a small reassuring smile. "We wouldn't have killed you."

Frankie sent him her own smile, but it was a disbelieving one with a raised brow. "Really?"

"Yeah. We would have tortured information out of you first."

"Dean," Sam warned his brother again.

He shrugged his shoulders. "What?"

"So…," Frankie muttered, bringing their attentions back to the conversation, "all monsters exist?"

"I have yet to see Mothra," Dean answered as he brought a forkful of potatoes to his mouth. Sam shot him a look that only caused Dean to repeat his previous reaction.

"But yes," Sam said, looking back at his sister, "many of them do. They're everywhere. We travel all around the country, saving people and hunting things."

"Now it's not all fun and games," Dean stressed, resting an elbow on the table as he gestured to the girl across from him. "We get beat up on a daily basis and we've been doing this for years, so don't think we're glorifying it."

Frankie nodded her head. She knew it was dangerous work. She didn't have to get attacked by a ghoul to know that. And on the terms of ghouls, it forced a memory to press to the forefront of her mind, dimming her excitement and relief for finally finding out who her brothers were.

"And Da- _John_ was a hunter, too?" she asked, the tone of her voice making her quick change in attitude known to her brothers. Apparently the death of their father was still affecting them if the tightened lips and furrowing brows were anything to go by.

"Yeah," Sam answered. "He taught us everything he knew."

Frankie nodded, her visible discomfort increasing, a new steely edge covering her voice. "And that thing that attacked my mom…"

"Was most likely a monster," Sam finished with a heavy sigh.

The nerve of that thing. The absolute _nerve_. It dared to try and kill her mother. If she had been there… what? If she had been there she would have no idea what to do, but she _wanted_ to know what to do. She wanted to be able to do what her father did, what her brothers do. She wanted to be able to save someone else's mother from being eaten. In a way, it was almost like she was repaying for the scars her mother was so self-conscious about.

If she trained up to be a hunter, she could repay for all the countless scarves her mother had to go through just so nobody asked about those scars. She could repay for all the nasty glares she got when they were still visible through the material. She could repay for all the night terrors that haunted her mom.

Her fists clenched under the table. "So that's the family business, huh?" she sighed, letting the weight of their words cloud over her. All of their warnings, all of their looks telling her that it was no walk in the park meant nothing to her. If she could train to be a hunter, she could save others from the trauma that her mom suffered through. She could do it. She could finally show off her Winchester side.

She lifted her head to meet the eyes of the men at the table. She lightly smirked, determination beaming in her cheeks. "I'm in."

"No," the three of them barked in unison. She was slightly taken aback by the overall disapproval, her heroic moment snuffed out in an instant.

"Not a chance," Dean added. "You're staying here, right here until you go back home."

There was that reminder, the reminder that they wanted her gone. Every confident drop in her body flushed from her form, replaced by a horrid fear of leaving. "B-But it's the _family_ business! I'm family! I deserve to be a part of it!"

"Look, this isn't some pest control job, this is hunting monsters," Dean snapped. "Nothing about it is fun. Nothing about it is safe. You don't want to be a part of this life."

"But I do!"

" _No_ , you _don't_." Frankie's mouth clamped shut. His voice was intense and commanding. She could only imagine it was what their father used to sound like. Her mother always said he could be coarse. "You could very easily die doing this, and you already almost did. We have been training since we were kids. _Young_ kids. You won't stand a chance out there."

Frankie sat up a little straighter in her chair, her confidence slowly returning to her. She was just about fucking tired of hearing what she couldn't do. _'You can't drink alcohol. You can't take easy medication. You can't live by yourself. You can't go out and find your missing father. You can't avenge your mother's suffering by joining the family business. You can't stand a chance against the real threats in life. You can't be a part of this family.'_

"Is that a challenge?" she growled, her attitude shifting so drastically that even they took notice.

"Frankie," Sam butted in, "please understand. We wouldn't be telling you this if we weren't sure you'd find out for yourself and try it out alone. You can die from this. We're not kidding. We wanted to distance you from this as much as possible, but-"

"We knew you'd snoop around and find something. We knew you'd ask a bunch of questions." Frankie glared at Dean with all her frustration and anger.

"And with your kidneys-"

"My kidneys are _fine_ right now," Frankie snapped, moving her glare to the other brother. "They won't be unusable until I'm thirty! And that's an estimate! They might not act up at all!"

"Look, we're just looking out for you. We just met you. We don't want to see you dead because we were stupid enough to introduce you to our line of work."

"Why is this so important to you?" Dean interrupted. Frankie looked back to him. He challenged her scowl with his own, his arms crossed over his chest as he pointed his frown over to her. "Huh? Why do you want this so much?"

Frankie's bubbled up anger began deflating. Slowly, her determination left her, filling her with the pathetic realization of why she wanted this so bad. "Well, I… I just… um," she sighed, trying to hang onto at least a little bit of confidence. "I guess if I'm being honest, I just… wanna be a part of your lives." She didn't look up, not wanting to know what they thought of her words. She scrunched her face up at them herself. "Now I know that sounds pathetic, but… I just met y'all. I just found out I had siblings. I don't wanna lose that! I… don't have a lot of family left."

She closed her eyes. She huffed, gaining a humorless smile out of it. "And you guys hunt monsters! Cryptids! Things I've been studying since preschool! How could I not want this?" Her fists clenched again, her grit returning to her. "I'm not gunna let my damn organs get in the way of a new life for myself."

"Well, we are." Her head snapped up, eyes filling with fury when they landed on the equally frustrated Dean. "It's not happening. I'm sorry, but we're not letting you in."

"Goddammit, Dean!" Frankie snapped, slamming her hand on the table. They didn't miss that it was her bad hand that she slammed. They also didn't miss that she hid any pain behind her anger. "After everything I've already sacrificed, after all the shit you've already put me through, you still wanna send me back to that hellhole I called home?! You said you'd give me a chance!"

The man went silent. His face twitched with confusion. And then, it evened out to a solid pointed glare, the same one that struck fear into her whenever she saw it. But not now. Not in that moment.

"When did I say that?"

It was Frankie's turn to be confused by his words. What the hell was he talking about? When did he say that? Well, it was last night in the car when he and Sam were…

And then it made sense. Now she knew why Dean was giving her that scowl. Now she knew why Sam was giving her one, too.

"You heard us," Sam muttered. It wasn't a question.

Her face fell, the confident, challenging glower that was there moments before was now gone.

"Spying, Frankie? Really?" Dean spat. Despite the tone of his words, the volume was quiet. The scooching of his chair, however, wasn't. Neither was the plate clattering into the sink. And neither were his heavy footsteps as he headed out of the kitchen.

And certainly, neither were the words that he hissed as he passed her. "Just heal already."

Dinner finished early that night. Later, Frankie would lie on the couch, trying to go to sleep, and wonder if maybe she should have just found out about hunters by herself.

* * *

The old day rolled into a new one. Frankie's dreamless sleep wasn't interrupted this time, and she therefore woke up when the sun was actually visible. She sat up on the couch, already telling that her hair was an absolute wreck by the way she scratched at her scalp.

She sniffed as she looked around the study. She sighed as she looked around the less cluttered room. It was nice to wake up and be able to see most of the floor. She stretched, hissing at the light pain in her wrist. She had conflicting feelings about it. She was annoyed that it hurt and there was little she could do about it, but she was glad it was there because it meant that she wasn't going home just yet, seeing as it wasn't healed.

She continued to stare into the vacant space. There was no movement that she could perceive. Bobby wasn't in the kitchen making breakfast, Sam and Dean weren't making noise upstairs. It was almost like she was the only one in the house. While that made things boring and uneventful, it at least meant that the men weren't around to give her constant reminders that she wasn't good enough to join the business.

She rubbed her forehead, wondering if there was another way last night's conversation could have gone that would have led to them giving her a chance. Dean was supposed to give her one, but she of course had to ruin it with her damn big mouth.

She didn't want to linger on the disappointment of the night before. She wanted to find out where everybody was. They wouldn't leave her in Bobby's house all alone. She walked up the stairs. She was met with a hallway, two rooms, and a bathroom, but no sign of her brothers or the house's owner anywhere. After taking a moment to brush her hair in the bathroom, she walked back downstairs and opened the front door.

She stood out on the porch, resting her good hand on the railing as a cool breeze flew across her face. It was then when she heard noises coming from the garage across the way. If she focused hard enough, she could see a little movement from a figure wearing a trucker hat. Looking to the other side of the property, she searched for the Impala, but it was nowhere to be seen. Apparently her brothers were gone, leaving her with Bobby, who was most likely still annoyed with her from the night before.

She sighed. Couldn't she have one person that understood her? She didn't want to join the hunting life because she thought it was cool! It may have been part of it, but still. It was mostly because she wanted to become something greater than she had been since she was born. She wanted to kill the life she built in Alabama and start a new one with her brothers. She wanted to train up and be useful! Not sit around and continue to be a huge burden.

She shook her head as she walked back inside, the cool air giving her goosebumps across her skin. She rubbed them as she entered the study again. She looked around at her recent work. There was still a bit of stuff to take care of, stacks to right and papers to organize. Oh well, she'd pick it up after some breakfast.

Luckily for her, there were still leftovers from yesterday in the fridge. She fixed herself a small plate of cold potatoes and eggs. It wasn't the most luxurious meal ever, but it was better than nothing.

Once she finished her slightly depressing breakfast alone, she went to place her dish in the sink, but stopped when she saw that it was fairly full of plates and silverware already. She pursed her lips. Well someone needed to take care of that. And she was bored as hell.

Huffing, she turned on the faucet and took out the dish soap, beginning to spruce up the pile of kitchenware that would otherwise fester and stink up the joint if no one did them. It wasn't like she didn't like doing the dishes. Well, she liked doing _her_ dishes. And she was doing it voluntarily, so she shouldn't be complaining, and she wasn't! But she just felt… lonely? If Bobby were doing the dishes with her then they'd be talking about some shared interest they just discovered, but instead he was out in his garage and was still adamant on her leaving in a few days.

She finished the last of the dishes. It didn't take long. For that she was disappointed. She was starting to run out of things to distract herself with. As soon as she turned off the faucet, however, she heard a ringing.

It was coming from her own phone.

Her head whipped around to the study. She grabbed a dishrag and was drying her hands as she walked slowly into the room. Who could be calling her? She didn't know anybody. Unless… unless it was… oh, god, no. Please don't let it be _them_.

She reached into her bag and fished around for her cellphone. After a few seconds of searching, she pulled out a small black phone and flipped it open to look at the screen. Her chest heaved a sigh of relief when her eyes laid on the name of the caller. She pressed the answer button and held to phone up to her good ear.

"Adam?"

"Frankie?"

"Oh god, Adam," she breathed out in a relieved chuckle. "You have no idea how great it is to hear from you."

"Heh, yeah. No kidding." Frankie smiled. "I can say the same about you. Dean told me that you got, uh… pretty beat up."

Her smile fell slightly. "Yeah. Uh… well, I'm not dead. And it's not really that bad. Honest."

"So… you're okay?"

Frankie paused for a minute. Was she okay? She thought she was, but hearing Adam ask how she was doing made her really step back and think about it. "I don't know. Really, I'm just kind of… in between emotions. I'm staying with near complete strangers, I'm dealing with a lot of questionable things, and I'll probably never be able to wear headphones the same ever again. Heh… I… I don't know if I qualify to be okay."

She shook her head. What was she doing…?

She inhaled suddenly when she realized that the call had gone silent. "What about you? How are you doing?"

"Oh, well… I'm surviving, I guess? I mean…," he paused to sigh. "I… my mom is pretty shaken up. She's not… not doing too well. She's not really talking, even to me. She won't leave the house. She refuses to go to work after seeing her coworker… y'know." Frankie nodded even though he couldn't see her. "And as for me, well… I could be worse. Got a few scratches here and there, but I'm fine. I was just really worried about you."

Frankie playfully scoffed, but it came out more humorless than she hoped it would sound. "You don't need to worry about me. You've got so much of your own things going on."

"And that means I can't worry about anyone else?" Frankie looked to the floor with a light smile. "Besides, Dean said you were pretty torn up. I couldn't sleep knowing that you probably were in really bad shape. Honestly, I thought you'd be in, like, a coma or something." Frankie breathed out a slight laugh.

"I kinda honestly wish I were in one." She didn't stop to think about exactly how that would have sounded on Adam's part.

"Are… are you okay? They're not hurting you, are they?"

"Oh, no." That was a lie. They were hurting her feelings. … Boy, did she sound like a bitchass. "They've been really hospitable. They've fed me, given me a place to sleep, and even bandaged my injuries. They've been… great."

"Alright. But if they hurt you at all, y'know, you don't have to stay with them. Don't feel obligated just because they're your brothers."

"I got it, Adam," she said with a smile in her voice. "I won't stay if I don't have to." Lies.

"I mean, I'm just sayin' that because they seem like the type of guys that… y'know, can be hard to reason with."

Frankie nodded to herself. "Yeah. I see what you mean," she sighed with a knowing tone.

A small while passed without either of them saying a word. What else could be said? Adam was alive, Frankie was alive, and they were both getting by after their traumatizing incident. And she gave kudos to Adam for calling her to check if she was okay. She should have done that yesterday, she should have called him. He really was the bigger sibling in this, especially for one that she just met. He was a selfless guy, that was for sure, and she was so grateful to call him her brother.

"Thank you," she said without a second thought.

"For what?"

"For checking in. It… it helps to know there's someone out there I can actually talk to."

"No one talks to you there?"

"Oh, they do. Not that it's much fun."

"Oh. Sounds rough."

"Eh."

"Well… do you need me to come get you?" Frankie's eyebrows furrowed." You could stay with us. Well, that depends on if you even wanna step foot in our house again after that night."

Frankie let a breath of a laugh pass her lips. This guy, he truly was nice. She shook her head before remembering that he couldn't see her. "No, I don't wanna put more on your mom than she already has. I'll be fine here. I think."

"Well, alright then. Still, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm just a call away."

Then suddenly her lips tightened together, her brows furrowed. This was all too good to be true. "Why are you being so nice to me? I mean… we haven't known each other long, just… why do you care so much about me?" She didn't feel very good questioning Adam's caring words, but she couldn't really help it. Her other brothers were starting to get to her.

"Well, you are my sister, right?"

A smile stretched far across Frankie's cheeks. An involuntary sigh blew out of her nostrils. She was really lucky to have Adam as a brother. Sam and Dean, they were a work in progress, but Adam… he was so eager to get to know his new family. It did seem way too good to be true, but she'd take it nonetheless. She wasn't about to let something so rare in her life like a truly good person who wanted to see her safe and happy slip from her fingers.

"I guess so," she answered with a small grin.

The called ended soon after that. Adam had said that he needed to go check on how his mom was doing. It sounded like she was really messed up about the incident. They said their goodbyes and they hung up the phone. Frankie snapped her phone shut and tossed it back into her bag. She lay down on her back on the couch, letting a smile ghost over her face.

Talking to Adam put her in the good mood that she didn't think she would get again after that night. It was clear to her that even if she didn't succeed in her current efforts to build a trusting relationship with Sam and Dean and join the hunting force at least she still had Adam to lean on when she was looking for someone who gave a shit about her. She was lucky to have him.

Now in a better mood, she decided to jump up off of the couch and continue her work. She decided to go a little extra and not just stack the books neatly, but also put them in alphabetical order. That was sure to keep her busy.

* * *

Bobby made an appearance some time later. He didn't say much. In fact, he barely said anything at all. He had walked in, saw that Frankie was still cleaning the study and nodded to her before heading into the kitchen. Frankie shook off any disappointment that he didn't greet her or anything and tried to focus on her stack of strictly werewolf exclusive books.

He rustled around in the adjacent room before appearing in the room again with a few beers in his hands. She met eyes with him, wondering if he was going to share one with her. He didn't. Instead he asked her if she needed anything before he went back outside to work on a truck or something. She pressed her lips together and told him she was good. And then he was gone as quickly as he came.

She sighed to herself. She really wished they were back on the same page that they were last night when they were making dinner. They had no problem chatting back and forth when he thought she was just a simple girl trying to get back home, but the moment he found out that she wanted to be a part of the family business he treated her like a sick patient.

She huffed to herself. She shouldn't be fretting over that. She knew going in that he wasn't going to accept her into the business with open arms. She had to earn it! How exactly she was going to do that was beyond her… but she'd figure it out. She had to. Her future depended on it.

About an hour and a half later and she had one quarter of the room alphabetized. She decided to take a bit of a break and read a book on the top of a stack, making a note of the specific stack so that she didn't ruin her system. She didn't even get a chance to figure out the book's contents before another phone began ringing. It wasn't hers this time.

She placed the book back down as she glanced up at a stationary phone on the desk next to her. She was conflicted on whether or not to answer it. Bobby should be the one to pick up, but he was outside in the garage. She should let it go to voicemail. But what if it was important?

Battling with the issue for two seconds, she decided to just answer it and report to Bobby as soon as she did. She lifted herself off of the couch and snatched the receiver before it could finish ringing. She lifted it up to her ear and cleared her throat.

"Bobby Singer's residence," she spoke, sounding a lot more professional than what she was going for.

"Frankie?" came Dean's voice. She would recognize that gruff rumble of his voice anywhere. "Where's Bobby?"

Frankie silently sighed, a little let down that it wasn't important after all. She should have let it go to voicemail. "He's outside." Her voice lost its higher pitched professionalism. "What do you need?" She heard him scoff to himself.

"Just tell him we called. We need his help with something."

"I can take a message."

He made another noise that was most likely of the annoyed origin. "Just tell him we're on a case and need his help, alright?"

A case? What did he mean by that? They weren't cops. Giving herself a second of thought, she realized exactly what they were doing. Her voice filled with excitement. "Are you guys on a hunt?" she asked, interest peaking as she leaned against the desk. He sighed on the other end of line. "If you need help, then… then maybe I can help you."

"Yeah, I don't think so." Frankie went to protest, but she heard another voice on the line. It must have been Sam. "No, I won't ask her. … Because we ask Bobby for help, not… not _Frankie_."

"Dean," the girl snapped, ending the arguing on the line. "I know a few things about monsters. If you need help, I can help. If you won't let me hunt, then let me do _something_ for the business. Please."

Silence passed. She began to wonder if he had the audacity to hang up on her, but eventually she heard that sigh that was starting to get on her nerves. There was another momentary pause before his voice came back through the receiver.

"Fine," he spat. "We're investigating a case in Nebraska. Three bodies have been found in the woods with their intestines gone. Nothing else was taken. Not the hearts, not the stomachs, just intestines." Frankie's brows gradually furrowed. The gears in her brain started turning. "According to the local sheriff, no signs of struggle were found at any of the crime scenes. They didn't find any footprints or tracks or anything. Sound like something you know?"

Frankie tapped her fingers against the desktop. Something clicked in her brain and she nodded her head. "Sounds like a fearsome critter."

"… Uh, sure. If you're scared of losing your intestines, I guess."

"No, no," she uttered as she leaned off of the desk and crouched down to her duffle bag. "I mean ' _fearsome critters_.' They were a group of monsters used in tall tales by lumberjacks, in colonial times I think." She found what she was looking for, an old book of hers about North American folklore. "Uh, lumberjacks would tell newbies about the monsters so they wouldn't go out into the woods alone. One of the critters sounds just like what you're describing…"

She held the receiver against her ear by her shoulder as she flipped through the pages of her book. Eventually she came across the cryptid in question. "Aha!" she exclaimed. "The Hidebehind. Now I remember." She began reading off the text at her fingers. "'The Hidebehind is a 'fearsome critter' and the subject of stories told by colonial loggers. The critter has the ability to suck its stomach to impossible sizes in order to hide behind any object. Its diet consists solely on the intestines of lone wanderers through forests.'"

She listened for a response from Dean on the other line. He hummed into the phone. "Guess you live up to your reputation." Frankie beamed as she returned the receiver to her hand.

"Thank you."

"Alright, so we know what we're looking for. How do we kill it?"

Frankie looked back down into the pages even though she already knew the answer. "Alcohol. They can't stand the stuff. Apparently it stuns them, but doesn't kill them. I guess with enough of it poured onto the thing it'll give y'all a chance to chop its head off."

"What is it with you and decapitation?" She shrugged even though there was no way for him to see her. After a beat, she heard him clear his throat almost awkwardly. "Well, uh… thanks Frankie. You've been a big help."

"My pleasure," she answered with a new sense of pride. "Let me know if y'all smoke the bastard, okay?" she added as she closed her book and placed it back into her bag. To her surprise, Dean laughed. It was small and only lasted for a moment, but it brought a smile her cheeks nonetheless.

"Yeah, will do."

He hung up without another word. Frankie took the receiver away from her ear and looked down to it. Her smile turned into a grin. So, she wasn't a hunter, but that exchange was fun. She was able to put her knowledge to use. Maybe Sam and Dean could use another monster expert on their team. If they didn't let her out in the field, maybe they could use an instant helpline when Bobby wasn't available. But again, that was putting the cart before the horse.

She placed the receiver back on its mount and got back to work with her organizing.

* * *

The day seemed so short compared to the one before. Before she knew it, the sun was setting and the day was coming to an end. She snapped her eyes over to the windows. Bobby had been outside all day. If she didn't know any better, she'd think he was avoiding her. What, was he afraid that she'd keep egging him on about the hunter life? She learned her lesson. Earn it, don't yearn it.

She sighed as she stepped back from her work and walked into the kitchen. Looks like it was leftovers again, seeing as Bobby wasn't coming inside and Sam and Dean weren't back yet. They were probably still on their hunt. She prepared yet another sad meal: a cold pork chop and the last of the Brussel sprouts. That's all that was left. However, she decided to just eat a few of the sprouts and leave the pork chop and remaining sprouts for Bobby. She was too damn nice sometimes. Maybe that was one of the reasons they wouldn't let her join.

After eating her depressing dinner and having Bobby still not come in from outside, she huffed, cleaned her plate, and warmed his food in the microwave. Exhaustion took over her as she placed his now warm food on the table. She yawned, walking into the study and drawing back the blanket before tucking herself into the couch for another dreamless sleep in a strange house.

Just before sleep claimed her, though, she heard Bobby finally enter. She could instantly smell the oil and gasoline radiating off of him. She heard him walk into the kitchen only to stop when he saw what was waiting for him. Frankie heard him sigh at the sight of his food on the table, warm and ready for him. She finally fell asleep soon after his chair scooted into the table.

* * *

He woke with a start, staring up into the dark ceiling above him. Sam's snoring greeted him from his interrupted sleep. He let out a breath, taking in every detail of the dream he just had. Cas had something to tell him. Something important. So important that he couldn't wait until the damn morning to tell him.

Dean lifted himself from his bed, groaning as he threw the cheap motel sheets off of him. "Sammy," he rasped, voice hoarse from just waking up. He slapped a hand on his brother's arm and shook it to pull him from his own sleep. "Sammy, get up."

The man jolted with a gasp, the sudden movement making his bangs fall in front of his eyes and shielded them from the possible threat. But when he frantically moved them out of his face, he relaxed, seeing as it was just his annoying brother. "What?" he snapped into his pillow.

"We gotta go."

Sam then forced seriousness into his expression when he realized there was probably a reason Dean woke him up. "Why?" he asked, lifting his body up by one of his elbows. "What's going on?"

"I had a dream," Dean answered, already switching his sweatpants for jeans. Sam rolled his eyes and fell back onto the bed.

"Then go back to _sleep_."

" _Cas_ was in it, Sam."

His brother turned his head over to look him in the face. He narrowed his brows before yawning. "I mean, I knew you guys were close, but I didn't know he was your dream guy."

"Dude," Dean snapped. Sam breathed out a small laugh as the older brother shook his head at him. "You know what I mean. He jumped into my dreams. He said he had something important that he needed to tell me."

"What did he wanna say?" Sam asked, finally rising from his bed while rubbing his eyes.

"Don't know. He told me to meet him at a certain address, and to meet him ASAP."

"And it can't wait until morning?" Sam groaned, grabbing his own pair of pants as Dean tied his shoes.

"The angel said now. I say we should meet him now."

Dean stood off of the bed and grabbed his jacket from the adjacent chair. "Did he say _why_ it had to be now?" his brother came again. He rolled his eyes as he righted out the lapels of his jacket in the mirror.

"How 'bout you stop your whining and hurry up." He grabbed the comb off of the bathroom sink and modeled his hair in his usual crew cut. "Whatever it is it's important. He said he couldn't tell me in my head because someone 'could be listening.' That doesn't sound like what he has to say will be anything less than important."

He tucked his comb into the inner pocket of his jacket and turned out of the bathroom. His sights landed on Sam, who was sitting on the edge of the bed and staring down to the floor instead of putting on his shoes. "Hey, Earth to Sam. Let's get a move on. Cas didn't sound like he was messing around."

Sam's head lifted from the floor. He looked over to Dean and parted his mouth like he was going to say something, but it died on his lips. He closed his mouth again, thinking carefully over his words. Dean spread his arms and quirked a brow at him. "What? Spit it out, we don't got all night. And if it's another joke like earlier you can forget it or I'll punch you in the throat."

"No, I wasn't-… look." Sam shifted his position on the bed so that he was facing Dean. "I'm gunna suggest something that's gunna sound crazy, but I need you to keep an open mind, okay?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. He didn't really like the sound of that. "Okay."

"Why don't we bring Frankie with us?"

Dean's stare turned rock hard before molding into a full out glower. "You wanna _what_?! Bring _Frankie_?!" Sam knew he would have that tone of voice. "What would even- why would you want to drag _her_ along? After everything we discussed with her the other day, you wanna take all that back?!"

"No. I still don't want her to hunt. That's not what I mean."

"Then explain yourself. Explain why you wanna take our inexperienced, fragile… _Frankie_ on an important and possibly _dangerous_ mission to meet an _angel_. Go on."

Sam sighed. He stood up so he could face Dean eye to eye and hopefully get something through to him. "Look, one of Frankie's biggest faults right now is her sick body, right? Well, it would help her a lot if her kidneys were healed, _right_?" Dean's brows narrowed at Sam's words. "And we may know someone who can heal her in an instant without having any need to ever go to a hospital again… _right_?"

"Alright, alright. I get it," Dean griped, putting a hand up to stop his brother. "You wanna let Frankie tag along so Cas can zap her healthy with his angel mojo."

"Yeah."

"And what if he says no?"

Sam scoffed. "Why would he say no?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because the apocalypse is about to break loose! I don't think he wants to be bothered by a civilian ailment."

"She's not just a civilian, Dean. She's-"

"Dad's kid. I know."

"Our _sister_." Dean glared. "It only takes a second. What's the problem with taking a second to heal someone?"

"Sam-"

"It couldn't hurt to try," Sam snapped. Dean closed his mouth with an ever annoyed scowl. "Think about it, Dean. If she's healed, she won't have a legitimate reason to need us. She won't need one of our kidneys. She could go home and have a normal life. Hell, she could go anywhere she wants. She won't have a reason to stay close by."

"Except the fact that she wants in the business."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, but that can easily be taken care of. She just needs to see how bad it gets. Believe me, I don't want her in any more than you do. I just think it's something really nice that we could do for her."

Dean pulled a face. One that looked as if he would say _'Yeah, I know, but I still don't like it.'_ "What if it goes wrong?" he asked in his usual gruff tone. "What she freaks out over all the angel stuff?"

Sam let out a light chuckle. "Uh, if werewolves and wendigo don't freak her out then I don't think _angels_ will."

"I don't want her knowing about angels."

"Why not?"

"Then she'll know about the apocalypse being on the rise. She'll wanna help. She'll start whining and begging for us to let her help out to stop it and then where will we be? Having to train her only for her to end up getting possessed by a demon, or _worse_ , and all because she was too excited about being a hunter?" Sam didn't interrupt him due to him having a point. "Look," Dean continued, his voice getting softer as he tried to calm his attitude. "I get where you're coming from. And… hell, I'm kinda on board for letting Cas heal her. It'll clear up a bunch of problems we're facing right now, but I don't want her thinking that once she's healthy that we'll let her into the business."

"So what do you wanna do?" Sam sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dean pursed his lips, thinking over a possible solution for a few seconds. "Okay," he started, "what if we…," he rolled his eyes at how much of a bad idea it was, "what if we tell her that we wanna see how she'll do on a hunt. Something simple, like a vamp case. She's excited, happy we're giving her a chance, blah, blah, blah. We get to where Cas wants to meet us, drop her in a motel, tell her we'll come back to get her, go see what Cas has to tell me that's so important, and then bring him back to the motel. Then he can heal her, zap her brain and make it like she doesn't remember a single thing about the trip. She's cured, we're let off the hook, and she won't remember a thing. Whuduya think?"

"And what do we tell her when she starts questioning how her kidneys are suddenly in perfect shape?"

"… Miracle?" Dean suggested with a half shrug.

Sam was quiet for a while, thinking over the details of Dean's idea. It wasn't sound, sure, but what other card did they have to play? "And you're sure we can't just tell her the whole thing?"

Dean lilted his head to the side as he dropped his expression to a light glare. "We can't tell her about anything. Not yet." Sam furrowed his brows at that last statement. "Look, I'm not gunna lie. She was helpful with the Hidebehind case, but this is something much bigger and she's not ready to know about our mission. She can know all she wants about the hunter life, but Lilith? That stays between you, me, and Bobby for now, got it?"

Sam wasn't sure about the plan. There were a lot of factors that could go wrong. What if Cas didn't even show up? He was very unpredictable, and there was no guarantee that this wasn't some sort of trap. And what if he refused to heal Frankie? What if he had a tight schedule and needed to fly off somewhere right after their meeting? Then where would they be? They'd have an expecting Frankie who would remember everything and still think they're bringing her on a hunt.

Despite all the things that could go so wrong, Sam knew that it was one of the only things they could do. He reluctantly agreed before they finished packing up their stuff and drove off to Bobby's house.


	9. Chapter 8 - Stranger

**A/N: Sorry for the late upload! School took up a lot of my time, but excuses are excuses. I hope this chapter is worth the wait!**

* * *

The weight of the gun in her hands was a welcomed reassurance as she approached the decrepit, old building. Though she couldn't see them, she knew her brothers had her back. Her eyes narrowed up to the tarlike sky, not a star in sight.

They arrived at the porch, the wooden boards beneath their feet creaking mercilessly. She was nervous, but confident. She always was on hunts. Suddenly, Dean appeared beside her and kicked the door in. All three of them lifted their guns up to point at the monster behind the door, but it was not there. On her brother's command, they stalked into the building.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Surely there would be some noise, a creak or a scuffing. Hell, even creepy whispering would do. And then, she heard it, the sound of shaking chains. She whipped around, gun at the ready, to face their enemy. Sam and Dean reciprocated her action.

There, staring them down, were the two infamous Green Ghosts. Frankie narrowed her eyes. She didn't like them on Scooby Doo and she didn't like them now. However, these weren't disguises used by Cosgood Creeps and Cuthbert Crawls; they were real phantoms, floating eerily behind her and her brothers.

They didn't hesitate to fire their salt filled bullets into the phantoms. They mostly missed, but one of them wasn't quick enough and dissolved into a cloud of smoke. The other phantom was not happy with the loss of its partner. Not like she cared. She continued to line up shot after shot, firing at the thing.

After each missed shot she began to grow angrier and angrier. She was better than this, and she had to prove that to her brothers. She needed to act fast as the monster swirled in the air. She lined up a perfect shot, fired, and missed yet again.

She let out a frustrated growl and began to fire again and again, accuracy forgotten. Finally she knew she had a great shot. It stilled in the air, she brought the gun up, pulled the trigger and watched as the bullet soared through the air.

But it wasn't the phantom that was met with the bullet.

Her eyes widened. A gasp attempted to rush out of her mouth, but was caught by the remorseful regret than instantly showered over her as she gazed at the fresh bullet hole in Dean's head. Her eyes misted over at the sight of shimmering red ribbons streaking down his face. The man fell to his knees, his eyes set to her in one more intense moment of guilt until he fell face first onto the old wooden floor.

The violent gasp took hold of her the moment she heard his body thud against the ground. She couldn't believe what she did. She killed Dean! She killed her brother! And all because she was too dead set on shooting something that her brothers could have taken better care of.

She didn't want to look over to Sam. She knew what his face would look like. Her eyes betrayed her, almost as if they were controlled by some unseen force. Sam face was much worse than she expected. He wasn't looking to her as if he was betrayed and overcome with sadness at the loss of his brother by the hands of his sister, he was looking at her like she was a monster, the very kind he made a living on killing.

She backed up, but it was in vain as the other phantom had appeared behind Sam and took his head in its chained hands, twisting his neck to make a nauseating crack before it dropped his lifeless body to the floor beside her other brother. She tried to glare at the thing that was the cause – more or less – of the death of her brothers, but it was cut short when it began to stalk towards her.

She gasped, quickly turning around, running away from the fight like her brothers would never do. She ran right into the body of someone else in the house. She landed hard on her back, causing whatever breath she had left to leave her. Her sights lifted up to the figure above her. But once she saw who it was, fear enveloped her form.

Bela Lugosi's Dracula stood tall and menacing over her. No, she didn't like this at all! That was the one of the only horror movie monsters that gave her nightmares, and here he was. She wanted to be brave. She wasn't scared of him anymore, but here she was paralyzed with fear.

Suddenly, he smiled a wide, sickening grin, only his smile didn't have the classic two fanged appearance. No, instead his mouth was filled with rows of razor sharp retractable teeth that shined in the dull moonlight.

She scurried away, kicking against the floor in an attempt to get away. Dracula grabbed her legs, dragging her back towards him with his mocking laughter. She twisted around and tried to pull herself away, fully aware of the pathetically scared whimpers she was making. Finally, with one more shred of confidence, she reared back one of her legs out of his grasp and kicked his face so hard that a few of his fangs flew out of his mouth.

She tried to get to her feet, but the best she could do was hurriedly crawl away. She didn't get far, though, when a hand met her throat and constricted it. She was at first confused through the terror of the moment at how familiar the hand felt. She understood why when the hand lifted her entire body up to meet eye to eye.

There she was: Ida the hospital desk clerk, the ghoul. She didn't look the same. Her face was mangled and warped, barely comprehensible, but she could see exactly who it was based solely on the grin. The grin that was getting closer. The grin that was getting closer at a very fast rate. Just as teeth met neck, her vision warped into blackness.

* * *

Frankie's body jerked as if someone had shaken her out of her nightmare. Her throat sucked in a shaky breath followed by huffs in an attempt to sooth her buzzing heart. She forced herself to sit up from the couch as she absentmindedly held her throat. It was so dry. She needed water.

She slowly set her feet on the floor and lifted herself from the cushions. Damn that dream. It left her hands trembling. She rubbed them together in a vain attempt to calm them. As she entered the kitchen, she glanced out the window. It was still pitch black outside. She couldn't get a good night's sleep anymore. She prepared herself a glass of water and sat herself down at the table. She gripped the glass in both hands as she stared ahead at nothing in particular.

That dream. She knew what it meant. She didn't need a therapist to interpret it to her. It was a mirrored image of her eagerness to join the hunting life. While she was excited to get started with saving people and studying monsters up close, there was that underlying fear that she wouldn't be good enough, and that bigger fear that if she did join the life she might do something stupid to harm herself or others, especially Sam and Dean.

She was already a burden on them. The last thing she wanted was to cause them any physical harm. What if she was put in a real life situation where they were face to face with a monster and she made the wrong decision or did something the wrong way? What if she was the cause of one or both of her brothers dying because she screwed up? She wouldn't be able to live with herself. What if she pushed them so hard to let her join that they brought her on a hunt way too early and she ends up doing something to hurt an innocent bystander? What couldn't go wrong if she became a hunter!

She rubbed her temples. That was all speculation. Sam and Dean would never let her join the business. There was no reason that she'd end up in a situation like that anyway. Besides, even if she were to someday go out into the field she wouldn't take a single step in a monster's direction without proper training. She knew it was dangerous. She didn't need to see it happen in person to know that people died doing that sort of stuff. That was why she wanted to be qualified for the position before performing heroic acts.

And what was up with Dracula? She supposed that he was just a reflection of her perceptions of monsters as a kid versus her knowledge of their true forms now, but she wasn't sure. Maybe there was some deeper meaning behind it. Or maybe it was just Dracula with retractable fangs. Who the hell knew?

Her brows narrowed when her ears picked up a familiar sound. The Impala's unmistakable rumble echoed from outside. She turned her head to look at the study's windows from the kitchen. Headlights passed by before disappearing again. The light and purr of the car ceased almost in unison.

They were back? She thought that they would be gone all night. Oh well. She guessed Bobby's house was better than any dingy motel room. She knocked back the rest of her water and placed the glass in the sink just as the front door opened. She walked into the study and met eyes with her brothers as they entered the foyer.

"Oh, you're awake," Sam noted as Frankie set herself back down onto the couch.

"Yeah," she sighed, rubbing her tired eyes. "I, uh, couldn't sleep, so I got a drink," she explained, pointing over to the kitchen. Sam nodded and Dean just stood beside him. Before it could get awkward, Frankie remembered the last interaction she had with them. "Did you guys kill the Hidebehind?"

Dean finally answered as he entered the study, Sam followed behind him. "Yeah. Sliced of its head like you told us to." Frankie smiled at that. She was glad that she could help in any way. "In fact," he continued, sharing a glance with Sam, "we were really impressed with your help." Frankie perked up at that notion. She didn't expect Dean to be so forward with his praise. Instead of building off of his previous comment, he looked to Sam for him to continue.

"Uh, yeah, you were a big help on the case, and it got us thinking." Frankie's smiling face evened out to a curious gaze.

"Oh?" she asked.

Sam nodded, meeting eyes with his brother one last time. Frankie didn't miss the tiny nod Dean gave him, deepening her curiosity. "We thought that maybe… we were being too hard on you." One of the girl's eyebrows lifted the tiniest bit. "We know what you've been through and we know that you don't have a lot of options… or time. So, we thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to teach you a bit about how to protect yourself against monsters. Or about the family business."

Her eyes dug into their own. "What?" she muttered. "What do you mean? What are you… what are you saying exactly?"

"Well," Sam continued with a sigh, "there's a case nearby. Vampires." Dracula came to Frankie's mind. "We thought that since you already know so much about monsters, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have you on our team." Frankie stared at them. "And you are family. We can't expect you to have learned about what we do and not want to be a part of it. So, we are giving you the option to come on the case with us and see how you do. See if you like it. If you don't, then that's fine. You don't have to be a part of this life, but if it's something you wanna do then you have that option. What do you say?"

Frankie switched her gaze from Sam to Dean over and over again, taking her sweet time to answer them. "Are you guys making fun of me?" she blurted. She glared at the clueless looks they gave her. She crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the couch. "Y'know, you can't just stress how much you hate the idea of someone joining something and then turn around a day later and invite them along to a case. I don't believe you're doing this because you honestly want me to join. This has to be some sort of cruel test."

"It's not a test," Dean corrected. Frankie snapped her head over to him.

"Really? You expect me to believe after everything y'all said that you want me to come onto a dangerous case _without any training whatsoever_? You mean to tell me that after all that 'protection' crap you guys spilled to me that you now want me to help you take down vampires? What-what the hell do you think this sounds like coming from my end? You guys came to this conclusion how? Because I answered a question for y'all that Bobby could have found out for you? You think that is what is going to be the defining factor here?"

"Look, we're just trying to give you what you've been whining about, okay?" Dean spat, holding up a hand to stop her arguing. "Isn't that what brothers do? Give their whining sister what they want?"

"I don't wanna go out in the middle of a war zone without armor, _Dean_! I want to become a hunter, not to just go out and hunt."

"And how do you think you'll learn? Huh? By reading _books_ all day? We learned out in the field, and that's how you'll learn. Take it or leave it."

Frankie and Dean shared a stare off, temper against temper. Why was he trying so hard? He was the one who was pushing her away the most. Why was he now pushing for her to come with them? There had to be some ulterior motive. She raked her brain for any clues. What could be so important about her coming with them?

Something clicked when she thought about the conversation her brothers had in the Impala. Dean suggested that she be used as bait due to her having little to no skills. That must be why they wanted her to come. She felt sick. There was no way in hell that she'd be turned into a meal for vampires!

But then again, she was bait, not food. She was going to be a useful pawn in their plan. She would be hunting, right? Wait, no! She wasn't hunting, she was being hunted! This was a terrible idea. She wouldn't do it.

But she might not ever get another chance to see how the family business works. Sure, it would be incredibly dangerous, but Sam and Dean wouldn't put her in any situation where they couldn't guarantee her safety. She knew that much. That was what was preventing her from getting involved in the first place, them being protective.

But that brought up more questions! Why now did they decide this? Obviously vampires shouldn't be that difficult to take care of. Surely they had taken down plenty of them before. Why did they need her this time? Maybe they really did want her to see how she felt about hunting. Maybe this actually was a test, just not the kind she thought it would be. Maybe this was their way to show her how bad things could get. Maybe this was their attempt to scare her off. Oh she wouldn't go out so easily.

"Frankie," Sam spoke up. The girl raised her eyes up to the tall man. "I know this seems like a really sudden offer, but just know we're offering this for your own good. If you come with us, we promise that you'll be safe. We're not expecting you to kill anything, or even get close enough to the monsters for you to be in danger. This is just to show you what we do so you can make a judgement for yourself on whether or not this is what you want. There's a chance you might just want to join because it's what _we_ do. If you're to join this life, it's because it is something you feel like you have to do. We want you to properly make that decision before making any choices you can't come back from."

Frankie let his words sink in. She could see where he was coming from, but she still had her doubts. But this was Sam. She didn't think he would lie to her. Dean, hell yeah he would lie to her, but Sam had yet to treat her like dirt.

So now it was down to her decision. Should she go with them and possibly be used for bait but also possibly be given a chance to judge the life for herself, or should she stay at Bobby's house, wait to heal, and leave his house and this life before she was ready to go. Despite all of the doubts she had about going with them, she would do just about anything to not go back home.

With a heavy sigh, she lifted her eyes up to Dean. "Can you promise me that this is a genuine chance to prove myself to you guys and not just some attempt to get this out of my system?"

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. He switched his gaze over to Sam and kept that look for a few long moments. Frankie wondered what the hell it was that they were silently saying. He then turned his head back to her and gave her the nod that she was waiting for.

With a nod of her own, she stood from the couch and grabbed her bag at her feet. She met eyes with both of her brothers this time. "Then let's go smoke some vamps."

* * *

Frankie watched as the dark world outside zoomed past them. It was quiet aside from the rumbling engine of the car and the occasional other car passing by. Sam and Dean didn't say a thing once they sat in their seats.

So here she was, riding to her first hunt. Well, of course she wasn't hunting. She was just watching as Sam and Dean hunted, but Dean had promised that he'd treat this as her given chance. Well… he promised more or less. They wanted her to simply observe, but she knew she wasn't going to just be a third wheel. That isn't how this is going to go down.

Frankie couldn't help but feel like something wasn't right. There was something they weren't telling her. There was no way they would just come to the conclusion that she should see firsthand what hunters do. After everything they shouted at her at dinner, there was no way they would consider this unless there was some ulterior motive. Still, using her as bait was on the table, but what if it was something more? What would even classify as more? What was bigger than vampires in the matter of importance? It wasn't like it was the end of the world if they didn't go on this mission, so why need her?

She glanced over to her brothers in the driver's and passenger seats. Well, she should at least get whatever information out of this that she could. "So," she spoke up, clearing her throat, "where is this case?" She noticed that Sam looked over to Dean.

"Nearby," Dean grunted. Well so much for that. "Now listen." Oh, apparently there was more. "When we get there, we're gunna get a motel room. We'll drop you off there and you wait for us to come back, got it?"

"Where're y'all going?"

Dean sniffed. "We're meeting with a guy with information."

"Why can't I be there for that? I mean, he's not dangerous is he?"

"No. Not really."

"So, why can't I come?"

"Because it doesn't concern you, Frankie," he said calmly, much to the girl's surprise. "It's more of a personal meeting. It doesn't have anything to do with the vamps."

Frankie nodded her head at that. She knew she shouldn't press the matter any further. "What kind of info do we have on the case? What's the evidence?" She was met with silence. She noticed the two sharing a look yet again. What the hell weren't they telling her? Well, right now it was what info they had. "Do… we have any evidence?"

Sam was the one to speak up. "Uh… well, Frankie, it's a typical case. Bodies found with mangled necks. Witnesses swearing they saw a fanged human drinking the blood of victims. The usual clues." Frankie nodded at that as well.

She couldn't stifle the excitement that pulsed through her. Her first investigation! Even if it wasn't technically hers, she was still here in the Impala with her brothers and a trunk full of weapons. She practically buzzed in her seat. She was finally going to see a real vampire in the flesh! That was exciting for her! She couldn't wait to see them with their fangs. And then get decapitated. Eh, she'd have to get used to seeing that.

They finally arrived at the motel. It didn't take that long to get there. A few hours at most. They had filled the time listening to quiet rock music. Just as Dean had instructed, they checked into a room and then they let Frankie inside. Before they left, Sam gave her a flask. "Holy Water. If anyone shows up to the room that isn't us, you splash this in their face and run like hell, got it? It shouldn't come to that, but just in case. You never know who's a demon or not"

She watched them through the window as they sped off. It was only when they were out of view when she realized that she had no idea when they would be back. She forgot to ask. Oh well. Surely she could spend enough time in the room entertaining herself.

She sat on one of the beds. She tried the TV. Whatever channels came in with clear enough reception were boring, so she tried reading a few of her books. She sat on the mattress with her legs crossed under her, a book resting in her lap. Her eyes scanned the lines and pictures, but she couldn't retain anything. Her mind kept wandering to the case.

She was looking forward to seeing her brothers in action and wowing them with her vast knowledge on vampires. But underneath all of that excitement, her nightmare kept creeping back up on her.

Sam had already stressed to her that she would have no need to hold a weapon or get close to the vamps, so why was she still so worried about screwing something up? She wouldn't be doing anything! But that could still leave room for mistakes to be made. Like, what if the vamps caught her and used her like some sort of bargaining chip? Or what if they threatened her life for theirs? Where would that leave them? Well, if she could guess she'd say they would let the vamps kill her if it meant saving other people.

She hated the idea, so hopefully she wouldn't allow herself to be put in that position. No, she wouldn't hope. She would make sure that she wouldn't be put in that position. Her eyes traveled down into her bag. She reached in and took out her machete, feeling its weight in her hand. She was using her right hand. It was hurting a lot less with the mixture of rest and physically therapy from organizing Bobby's house. This hunting test was perfect timing. She was just about, if not already, healed, but now she almost had a reason to stay. She just needed to excel in this hunt.

She started practicing swinging the weapon around. It was a foreign feeling, but a welcomed one. It almost felt right. Maybe it was that Winchester blood in her. She swung up and down, left and right, in diagonals and in completely erratic moves. She spun around, swinging her blade this way and that and loving how badass she felt. In one passionate swing, she brought the machete down, hitting the pillow on the bed. She opened her eyes, her joyful smile immediately dropping.

Fuzzy stuffing had flown out of the pillow. Luckily it didn't get all over the place, but now they had to worry about paying for the damage. "Oh nice one, Frankie." She tossed her weapon onto the bed and began gathering the stray clumps of stuffing. "This is why we can't have nice things."

She walked over to her bag and looked for anything she could use to fix the issue. She found some loose thread at the bottom of her bag and cut off long strips of it with her blade. Now she just needed a needle. Where was she going to find a needle?

Her eyes pulled over to her brother's bags that they left behind. She shouldn't. It wasn't right to look through their private things, but this was sort of an emergency. She gave in and searched through the bags. She didn't remember whose was whose, so she delved into the one closest to her. There were the usual things: shirts, pants, a suit? There were also hygienic supplies, multiple flasks, knives, a gun, and a journal of some sort – her eyes lingered on the journal, her mind telling her to read through it, before she tore them away to move on.

The other bag had much of the same things, but there was a pouch inside the other one that was useful. Inside the pouch, there were many various items that seemed randomly placed at first glance, but it clicked when she thought of the items as being used for medical reasons. There was dental floss, a role of bandages, another flask, and a few needles as well as a few other things. She took out a needle and walked over to the crime scene.

Taking the thread she got from her own bag, she prepared it with the needle and began suturing the pillow back together. In no time, it was more or less put back together. She grinned down to her work. It wasn't too bad. After all, she was no stranger to light sewing. Eventually someone had to suture the heads back onto her stuffed animals after playing John Winchester.

After fixing Sam and Dean's bags so it didn't look like they had been rummaged through, Frankie saw the familiar lights of an approaching car travel across the walls from the window. She turned around and walked over to the window, peaking around the curtain to see if it was her brothers. She saw someone approaching their room… but it wasn't Sam or Dean.

Sam words echoed in her head. She began to panic. He told her it shouldn't happen, but this could be the real deal! He could be a demon! Where was that Holy Water? She rushed to grasp at it, and for extra measure she clutched her machete as well. She waited just on the other side of the door, her heart beginning to pound. Maybe they'll just walk on by. Maybe they thought her room was theirs and they'll realize that it's the wrong one and move along.

The doorknob turned and she clutched the flask and machete tighter, already rearing back the Holy Water. As soon as she saw the face of the stranger, she threw the water at him and made sure to splash all over. "Die you demon fucker!" she yelled, rearing back her machete, fully prepared to end that bastard's life.

"Woah, woah, _woah_!" a familiar voice shouted as a body appeared in between her and the strange man. She backed up at the sudden other man in the room, but it was Dean. She sighed out in relief, lowering her machete and the near empty flask. "What the hell were you trying to do? _Kill him_?"

"Yeah!" Frankie huffed out. "I thought he was a demon."

Dean sent her a confused glare as he turned around to the stranger. "You alright?" Frankie peered over the form of her brother to get an actual look at the man.

"Yeah," his voice assured as he wiped the water from his face. He was shorter than her brothers, but still taller than her. His black hair was ruffled and his clothes under his trench coat were wrinkled and dusted with dirt. He looked like he had been through hell and the bags under his eyes affirmed that. He lifted his crystal blue eyes to meet her own. Was this their personal friend?

"Uh…," she muttered, now feeling guilty for drenching a possible friend of her brother's with Holy Water and threatening to turn him into the pillow from earlier. "S-Sorry about that. I, uh, thought you were a threat."

"Well, I can assure you that I'm not. Not anymore at least."

Frankie's brows furrowed at that. What did that mean? She didn't get a chance to ask what that meant before Sam appeared behind them, his expression asking a silent question regarding to why the man was wet. One look to Frankie's hands answered that for him. He pressed his lips together before entering the room and closing the door behind him.

Sam had a handful of food in his hands, all burgers and fries. There was way more than enough for all of them. She wondered why he'd buy so many. Her own question was answered when Sam placed them all down on the table and the stranger began to eat them. All of them it looked like. She lifted a brow at him.

"Is that your friend? Who is he?" she quietly asked, keeping her eyes pointed at him as he scarfed down handfuls of fries and meat. When neither of her brothers answered, she turned her sights to them. They looked frustrated.

"Yes," Sam finally sighed. "He's the friend we were talking about. Kinda."

"Kinda? What does that mean?" He went silent again. Now Frankie was beginning to get frustrated. "Hello?" she added, snapping her fingers in front of their faces. "Who is that? Please give me something here."

"We told you it doesn't concern you," Dean lowly uttered. "You don't need to know who he is."

"Well how do I know he isn't a danger to me?"

"Dean, maybe we should tell her," Sam said, gaining Frankie's attention.

"Sam, we talked about this."

"Hey. I heard that. What are you keeping from me? What should you tell me?"

"Nothing."

"He's a vessel."

" _Sam_." Dean's shout caught the stranger's attention, but he quickly turned his attention back to his pile of food.

"Huh?" Frankie looked up at Sam as if she hadn't entirely heard what he said. Sam kept his gaze on his brother.

"Dean, the plan won't work anymore. She's gunna get involved now whether we like it or not."

"She won't if you shut up about it."

"Dean."

Frankie continued to look back and forth at the men as they exchanged their looks of silent arguing. Dean brought his hands up to his face and rubbed his features. He sniffed when he removed his hands and grunted, "Fine," before walking over to the table to sit next to the man. Frankie returned her eyes to Sam and waited for his explanation.

"Frankie… um, that man used to be our friend. Well, of sorts. He's a vessel, someone who is controlled by an angel. He used to have an angel in him named Castiel. That's the friend we were talking about. But now Castiel is gone and we have no idea why."

Frankie gaped at the man next to her, holding onto his words as she tried to process exactly how she took them. "He's… a what? She exclaimed, turning her eyes to truly examine the worn and weathered stranger across from her. "A vessel? T-To an _angel_?"

"I know this is probably a lot to take in-"

"W-Well… not a whole lot. I mean, demons exist. Why not angels?" Despite how calmly she tried to come off as, Frankie was taken aback by the existence of angels. She was always skeptical about them. If they were truly out there, where the hell were they when she needed them? Hanging out with hunters? That hardly seemed fair. There were more than enough people suffering in the world to pay attention to, but being buddies with her brothers was supposedly more important? She almost preferred them to not exist.

Sam walked over to join his brother as Frankie sat herself down on the mattress, all of them watching the man, the _vessel_ , eat his many meals. "Mind slowing down? You're gunna give me angina," Dean muttered.

The strange man shrugged as he reached for his drink. "I'm hungry," he said through a mouthful of food.

"When's the last time you ate?" Sam asked him. The man shook his head

"I dunno. Months." He continued to munch and chew his food, slurping his drink through his straw, and Sam, Dean, and Frankie simply watched as he did so, growing slightly uncomfortable at the questionable sounds leaving the man.

"What the hell happened back there? It looked like an angel battle royal," Sam spoke. Frankie looked over to him. What was he talking about? The meeting they went to? Was the information they were looking for about angels? What else didn't she know? Frankie hurriedly silenced the quickly growing questions and listened to the conversation.

"All I remember is there was a flash of light and I, uh, I woke up and I was just, y'know, like me again," the stranger replied.

"So what? Cas just ditched out of your meat suit?" Dean asked. The man shook his head and thought for a moment, all the while still chewing on his food.

"I really don't know."

"You remember anything about being possessed? Anything at all?" Sam questioned. It seemed like they were trying to get anything and everything out of this man.

"Bits and pieces. I mean… angel inside of you, it's like being chained to a comet."

"Well, that doesn't sound like much fun," Dean noted.

"Understatement" the man replied with a knowing nod.

"Cas said he wanted to tell us something," Sam continued. "Please tell me you remember that."

The man shook his head at her brother. "Sorry," he muttered.

Dean looked visibly frustrated at the lack of info they were getting out of him. "C'mon, what do you know?"

The man swallowed. He narrowed his eyes as he rummaged through his brain for anything he knew for sure. "My name is Jimmy Novak. I'm from Pontiac, Illinois. I have a family."

The man, Jimmy, then went on to tell of his experience. He told how he was a faithful man, how he was watching TV one night and fell asleep, but then woke up to a strange noise. He got up to turn off the TV, but the noise got louder and higher pitched. He went into a seizure like state as he heard the voice of an angel. Dean had a look on his face as if he had an idea of what he was talking about.

After hearing what Jimmy had to say, Sam and Dean excused themselves outside to talk amongst themselves, leaving Frankie and Jimmy in the room. After finishing his many meals, Jimmy got up and began pacing the room. It looked as if he was remembering more about his life.

Frankie was tempted, oh so tempted, to question him in every which way about what he knew, but she knew that there wasn't much of anything he could tell. Angels existed. They must really exist if anything the three men were talking about was real.

With that knowledge, Frankie had many questions. What did angels do? Weren't they supposed to go around and help humanity? Weren't they supposed to help those in their direst needs? Obviously not, because they would have helped her weeks ago. She couldn't help but feel bitter by the thought of angels walking amongst them.

Her eyes lifted to the pacing man in front of her. She had no reason to be bitter with Jimmy. He was just the vessel, but when she met this _Castiel_ she would have more than a few words to him about his practices.

Sam and Dean finally reentered the room. They didn't look too happy. Jimmy walked over to them. "When can we leave? I really need to get back to my family." Frankie looked over to them as well and saw the troubled looks on her brothers. Dean stepped forward.

"Sorry, but you can't go home." Both Frankie and Jimmy looked to him in confusion.

"The hell are you talking about I can't go home?"

"There's a good chance you have a bullseye on your back," Dean continued.

"What? From who?"

Dean looked behind him to Sam and shared one of their famous looks to each other. Frankie was starting to think they mostly communicated through stares. "Demons," he finally grumbled.

"Come on, that's crazy. What do they want with me?"

"I dunno. Information maybe?"

"I don't know anything!"

"I _know_ , but-"

"Look, I'm done, okay? With demons, angels, all of it. I just wanna go home!"

"We understand that-"

"No I don't think that you do understand. I've been shot and stabbed and healed and my body's been dragged all over the earth. By some miracle I'm out and I am done! I've given enough, okay?"

"Look," Sam butted in, "all we're saying is that until we figure this out the safest place is with us." Frankie wanted to confirm that, but she felt that it wasn't her place.

Jimmy looked to the side to collect himself before turning back to Sam. "How long?"

Sam hesitated for a few moments. Jimmy stared impatiently at the man, waiting for his answer. Frankie wondered this as well. How long were they going to be stuck with this guy? They had a vamp case to get through. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Jimmy moved forward, marching towards the door. "Where are you going?" Dean calmly asked as Sam moved to block Jimmy's path.

"To see my wife and daughter, okay?"

"No you're not," Sam said, placing his hand against Jimmy to stop him from moving forward. "You're just gunna put those people in danger."

"So what? Now I'm a prisoner?"

Sam tightened his face at the notion. "Harsh way to put it."

They commenced to try and calm Jimmy down, but it was to no avail. The man desperately wanted to see his family and he wasn't going to let the men stop him, but they eventually stressed to him that he needed to get comfortable, because he was going to be with them for a while. Frankie was disappointed with this. She didn't want someone else to slow down her first hunt. She wondered if they were even going to get around to it after all of this missing angel crap.

She decided to voice her frustrations to her brothers. She brought Sam and Dean to the side as Jimmy sat on a bed. "Hey," she quietly began, "How long are we really gunna be with this guy? Don't we need to focus on the vampires killing people?" Instead of being met with two equally frustrated faces, she was met with two very uncomfortable gazes. Once they sent each other the gaze, Frankie huffed. "C'mon, don't look at each other! Look at me! What are we gunna do here?"

Sam sent her a troubled glance. He motioned his head to the door, indicating that he wanted to talk outside and away from Jimmy. She sighed as she exited the room and stood outside with her brothers. "Okay, what? What's so important that we have to talk out in the cold?"

"Frankie," Dean spoke, hushing Frankie's questions. "There are no vampires. I mean, there _are_ vampires, but not out here."

The girl lingered her gaze on Dean, the look wavering only when her brows narrowed and a small laugh left her lips. "What? What do you mean? Why'd we come out here then?" Taking in their serious faces, her voice grew a more serious tone. "Why'd you tell me there were vampires out here?"

Sam tightened his lips before sighing and answering her. "It was the only way to get you out here without knowing why we were really coming out here."

"The hell do you mean by that? You guys tricked me?" She turned her looked to Dean. "You guys _lied_ to me?"

"Yes. But for good reason," Dean reasoned.

"What reason? What, the _angel_ reason? You didn't want me to know about Jimmy? Or about _Castiel_?"

"Exactly. We didn't want you involved with angels."

" _Why_?"

"Frankie," Sam started, "Angels aren't all… good. Cas is an exception. He's on our side."

"So, you expect me to believe that angels _aren't_ on our side? They're _angels_."

"Yeah, and they're _dicks_ ," Dean snapped. "They're soldiers of heaven and only follow what the big fish says. They have next to nothing to do with us."

"Well… well that hardly seems fair," Frankie angrily mumbled, feeling a little betrayed by everything she previously knew, but not nearly as betrayed as she felt about being blatantly lied to. "But you didn't have to deceive me! Why bring me out here in the first fucking place if you didn't want me to know!"

"Ask Sam," Dean suggested with a look to his brother. He was met with a furious glare from the taller man.

Frankie snapped her head over to him as well. No, not him. Not Sam. Not the reasonable, nice brother. Please, not him. "Sam?" she urged, her angered face turned more betrayed.

Sam let out a hefty sigh as he gazed down to his sister. "I wanted to bring you to Cas so he could heal your kidneys. And then when he did he would erase your memory of ever coming here." Frankie's mouth slowly went slack at his confession. "But then when we got here we found that he's gone. Frankie, I swear I meant it with good intentions. Dean was the one who didn't want you to know anything."

"Oh, c'mon. You agreed with me!"

"So…," Frankie muttered, her voice small. "You just wanted me healthy… so I could leave. So I wouldn't need you guys anymore." She stifled any tears that misted over her eyes. Her voice gradually grew more aggressive. "Y-You just wanted me out of your life faster. You weren't impressed with me at all. You didn't- you didn't really want me on your team. You _lied_ to me, got my hopes up, just so you didn't have to deal with me anymore!"

"Hey, I really was kinda impressed when you helped us with the frightening creature case. That wasn't a lie," Dean insisted.

"Fearsome critter," Sam quietly corrected. Dean shot him a look before returning to Frankie.

"I shoulda known it was too good to be true. Even when you _promised_ me that this was my chance to prove myself to you, you still turned your back on me! Why would you break a promise, Dean?!"

"Like Sam said, we had to get you out here. You wouldn't have come if I didn't."

"Well, seeing what happened, it would have benefitted me much better if I refused! Jesus, is this how you want me to remember you guys?! Telling me that I can follow in my father's footsteps and then pulling the rug from underneath me?!" Their faces both tightened, frowns getting deeper. "Why the hell do I even try anymore? I can't trust my own goddamn family!"

"Trusting us in the first place was your mistake. We told you that you'd never be a hunter. We meant what we said." Frankie's eyes turned up to Dean. "The fact that you believed us at all was due to your own desperation to be something you're not. Don't blame us for that."

Frankie didn't say anything. His words sure did the trick in shutting her up. That hit her hard right in the chest, this whole trip. Insisting that she try out her hunter's legs only to find out that it was all a ruse to get an angel to heal her. It was like climbing all the way to the top of a mountain only to be hit by an airplane.

She could feel the involuntary tear streaking down her face. Dean's eyes traced it as it traveled to her chin and dripped off to the unforgiving ground beneath her. She didn't say a word as she nodded her head to him, regaining his eyes in her own. "Something I'm not," she repeated, nodding even more in agreement.

She slowly turned towards the motel and walked back to the door, her head hung low. She ignored the call of Sam who tried to reason with her. Instead, she reentered the room, ignored the desperate glance of Jimmy and set herself a sleeping area on the floor. She grabbed the pillow with stitches and a lone blanket from the closet. She waited until Sam, Dean, and Jimmy were settled into their individual positions before silently crying herself to sleep.

* * *

The sound of a door closing woke her up. She sighed through her nose at the interruption. She scrunched up her face, her cheeks sticky from old tears. She could hear the snoring coming from the bed on the other side of the room. She could only guess that it was Dean.

She burrowed herself deeper into her uncomfortable position. However, the sound of someone getting out of bed interrupted her yet again. She cracked one eye open to see who it was. Her other eye snapped open when she saw that it was Jimmy. What, was he getting up to get a drink?

No, he was stalking towards the door, cracking it open, peering out, and slipping through it while quietly closing it. Oh shit. He was escaping. She immediately shot up from her sleeping position to look back to the bed Jimmy had been sleeping in. Empty. So it wasn't a hallucination. She twisted her head around. Where was Sam? He was supposed to be keeping watch. Dean was, of course, fast asleep.

Oh well. It wasn't her problem now. It was theirs. They wanted to come out here. They wanted to drag her into this mess, but she wasn't dealing with it. So what if their precious Jimmy Novak escaped to his family in Pontiac, Illinois. It wasn't her problem now.

She set her head back onto her pillow.

But wait a minute. Her eyes snapped open. She could make this her problem, only she could make this benefit herself. She could follow Jimmy and keep tabs on him. She could be Sam and Dean's eyes on him. This could be her way to prove herself. Not that she cared what they thought anymore, but she could make this hers to gain from.

She decided that this was her last resort. If Sam and Dean weren't going to escort her into this life, she would take it for herself. She quickly put on suitable pants before hurrying out the door after Jimmy.


	10. Chapter 9 - Confusion

**A/N: Thanks again to everyone who is showing their support, either through clicks or typing. Each and every one means the world to me! Now for a slight announcement: I will not be posting next week, but it is only so I have enough time to refine the next few chapters. Since starting my second year in college, I have little time to do the refining my story needs, but again those are just excuses. Expect a new chapter the following Friday. Thanks so much!**

* * *

She trailed behind the flowing, tan trench coat as it fluttered through the early morning breeze. She made sure to stay far behind the escaping man so her footsteps weren't heard. She adjusted the strap of her duffel bag on her shoulder, never tearing her eyes from Jimmy.

Frankie followed him for what seemed like twenty minutes, maybe more. All she knew was by the time he stopped walking her thighs were on fire and the sun had risen from its dormancy. She approached his destination. He sat on a bench at a bus stop. Of course, buses were the most discrete way out of a town. She should've known that. Well, that meant she was getting on there along with him.

But then a problem came up. It wasn't a money issue; she had plenty of that to last her. The issue was instead one a little harder to fix. How was she going to sit on a bus for hours on end without him recognizing her? Sure, they hadn't known each other long at all. Hell, she didn't recall saying more than ten words to the guy. However, he had in fact seen her and would recognize her the moment he saw her.

She bit her lip, sinking behind the corner of an alley. How was she going about this? Her first mode of action was rummaging into her bag for anything she could disguise herself with. If only her hair were longer. Then she could at least put her hair in a ponytail, but that just wouldn't work. She needed _something_ to make her look different enough.

She looked around the corner to make sure Jimmy was still sitting on his bench. She kept her eyes on him until a foul stench reached her nostrils. What was that? The smell pulled her eyes downward to the unconscious position of a homeless man. How had she not noticed an entire person there?

She wasn't entirely thinking about that, though. As much as she despised herself for even considering it as a possibility, her eyes drew immediately to the worn hat on his head. Oh, come on now, she wasn't a heartless thief. She would never, ever steal a homeless man's hat. That was just rude. But… she did need a disguise and it was the only possibility. Especially since a bus was pulling into the bus stop as she was debating the situation.

She lightly whimpered to herself. Oh, how she'd hate herself for this later. She plucked the fraying hat from his head and replaced its presence with a winkled five dollar bill in his jacket pocket.

As the bus's door folded open, Frankie walked out from the shadows, head and face covered by the hat that was too big for her head. She shoved her hands in her denim jacket and still kept a sizable distance from Jimmy. She walked in the bus and paid the fare before turning to walk down the aisle. Despite Jimmy looking out the window, she still tipped the hat lower on her face as she passed him. She set herself down on the opposite row so that she could still have an eye on him. The bus driver let a few more people on board before finally closing the doors and taking off out of town.

Once the road started passing at a decent speed, Frankie allowed herself to let out a breath she was not aware was being held. Relief washed over her at the knowledge of being on a bus alone with Sam and Dean's escapee. See? She wasn't useless. They had no idea where he was and she did. Boy, would they regret lying to her.

She thought back to their dirty trick. Her arms found themselves folded across her chest. Sure, she should have seen it coming from a mile away, but Dean promised her that this was her chance. Where she came from a promise was a promise, not a tactic.

She sighed through her nose, the light air fogging the window for a full second. How could they do this to her? Did she really mean that little to them? If she were them she never would have lied to her. If she were them she never would allow her to go back to that horrid hometown of hers. If she were them she would never leave her to live all by herself, alone in this cruel world with the knowledge that monsters, angels and demons exist. If she were them she would let her join the fight against the evils of the world.

But she wasn't them. She wasn't them at all. And that was the problem. She would never be them, Dean had said so. Why, she wondered. What was it about her that was a major turn off to hunters? Was it her bum kidneys? There wasn't anything wrong with them right now! Sure… she had tendencies to get high blood pressure, and every once in a while she would get a headache or even pain in her back or practically anywhere in her abdominal area, but those… those were just quirks!

Yeah, she wouldn't be slowing anyone down. For a while, at least. But what happened when that time ran out? In ten years or later… or sooner, what would they do to her? Leave her in a hospital bed for the rest of her days?

She was being overdramatic. Not every case of PKD ended with an early exposure to cysts and _definitely_ not every case led to renal failure. But the ones in her family did. Her great aunt, her grandmother… her mother. She shouldn't be overdramatic. She was always different than a lot of her known family. Maybe she would be the one to end the line of early departures. She'd keep thinking that. It was the mindset she'd held for years and it was the mindset she'd keep.

She shifted in her seat and gazed at the colorful early morning sky. If she was going to get anywhere in this world she needed to stop thinking about the things that would hold her back. Sure, she was dying. Agonizingly slow, but she had a few good years still left. She wasn't useless! She still had a lot to offer and, dammit, she was going to do something with herself!

This mission was entirely too important. She couldn't afford to mess this up. If she did this right, just right, she could win over Sam and Dean's favor. And if not, then fuck it. She'd do exactly what they warned her not to do. She'd start hunting all by herself. She was doing this. She was sick and tired of being a useless shell of a person. She was John Winchester's daughter and she was following in his damn footsteps! To hell with what her brothers thought. If they weren't with her then they were against her, and she was going to let them know that!

The funny thing was that she was fully prepared to let Dean know that. Oh, how she'd spell it out in big, bold letters, right in his stupid, dumb face. But Sam… oh, Sam. He was the first one she was drawn to. Hell, he was the _only_ one she was drawn to. Sam, he was nice to her. He was the only one between him and Dean that thought of her as an actual sister. He even believed it before he went and got her tests done, even if a little.

But he was the brains behind their cruel deceit. He wanted her gone just as much as Dean did. Even though he had said that to her face, she still had hoped that he didn't really mean it. God, could she not have one decent family member left in this world?!

But she did have one, she knew she did. Adam. He was the model brother. Sam and Dean sure did have a lot to live up to. Adam wanted nothing but the best for her. And even though she didn't see what was so special about herself in his eyes, she welcomed his caring attitude. When she thought about it, she thought that maybe she could go and live with him and his mom after all of this was done with. Obviously she would need some time to train up for her solo hunting career. Maybe she could take Adam up on his offer and go live with them.

Another sigh left her. She couldn't do that. She knew she couldn't. Not only was Adam an active college student, he also had his hands full caring for his traumatized mother. Frankie wondered how Kate was doing. Was she better? She sure hoped so, but she really doubted it.

She thought more about Sam. Was his caring attitude towards her all an act? Honestly, she didn't know what to believe. He very well could have just put on a performance to deceive her. Who was she to deny that? She'd be lying if she said it didn't break her heart to think about Sam lying to her the whole time. It was such a letdown. She thought the two of them got along pretty well. With time, she thought they could be as close as he was to Dean, but that was such a long shot that she didn't even give it a second thought.

She leaned her forehead against the glass of the window.

She was right back where she started, right back where she was before she left on this goddamn trip. Alone and heartbroken. But this time, both of those factors were warped to have a different meaning. She wasn't alone because she was left behind. She was alone because she made the choice to break away from her usual passive ways. And she wasn't heartbroken because she lost someone she loved deeply. She was heartbroken because she allowed herself to place her trust in someone she hadn't even known a week.

She shut her eyes as she breathed out the negative, sorrowful thoughts. She wasn't going to be that Frankie anymore. The sad, wallowing Frankie had no business being on that bus. She was left behind with the stitched up pillow in the motel. She was going to be determined Frankie, fueled by the anger from her brothers' lies, from here on out. That was the Frankie she wanted to be.

That Frankie had a mission to keep an eye on an angel's vessel so demons don't get to him first. She turned her head over to see him. He was also gazing thoughtfully out of the window. She wondered about Jimmy. If he was an angel's vessel, was he special in some sense, or just an average Joe? And if he was special, what made him special? Did he even know that he would be a vessel before he became one? Was he completely unaware of the potential to be a vessel? Could… could she be an angel's vessel?

She shut her eyes to quiet her rambling questions and opened her eyes once more to look back out of the window. The thought still stuck to her mind, though. Could she be a vessel? It wasn't like she wanted to be one! But she was very curious on how that system worked, and she was honestly confused by it. If angels needed vessels, why? Could they not conjure up some physical form of their own? She supposed not. But wasn't using a human as a vessel a little… intrusive?

Were they able to access every thought, every memory? Was the person able to control themselves at all under the guide of an angel, or did they give hand complete control to the divine being?

Frankie lightly snorted at the thought of them as divine. Sure, they were freaking _angels_ , but according to Sam and Dean they were horrible, heartless beings. Okay, maybe that was putting it on a bit thick, but their point was that they weren't like the angels Sunday school teachers prattle on about.

Except Castiel, they told her. Castiel was apparently their friend. So, what about him made him their friend? Was he a rogue? A mole maybe? What about him made him special? And more importantly, was he as big an asshole as her brothers?

She had to be honest with herself. If she was keeping an eye out for the vessel of an angel, a good guess would be that eventually the angel would come back to it. At least she hoped so. Maybe Castiel would find another vessel. But she didn't know the system. She could only hope that she'd get to meet Castiel.

Not only would it be totally interesting to meet an angel in the flesh – well… the flesh of another human being – but, boy, did she have questions for him. Not only about what angels were really like, but also _why the hell weren't they helping people_? Goddamn! There were people dying, literally suffering without the influence of angelic beings! What were they doing up there that was more important than the wellbeing of humanity?

She began making a list of things to be sure to ask him when she saw him. She'd make sure she saw him. After all, they had unfinished business. Sam and Dean were bringing her to him so he could heal her kidneys. Well, damned be her soul if she were to let that opportunity pass by. If- _when_ he healed her kidneys, she would be set free. She would be a completely different person, brand new. She would start a whole new life as a hunter, healthy and free. Screw what her brothers said. They didn't want her near them? Fine. She'd go looking for monsters in California. She always did want to go to Disneyland.

She let a smile spread onto her cheeks. Her brothers' deceit may have been an end to an opportunity for a good relationship with them, but it was also a beginning to her new life as a healthy cryptozoologist hunter who saved people all across the states. Yup, she liked the sound of that life. And God be with anyone who would stand in her way.

* * *

It was late afternoon when the bus finally reached Pontiac and Frankie's ass was numb from siting on it the whole time. At least the drive was over. When the bus lurched to a halt, Frankie stretched while making sure to keep her eyes on Jimmy. He was already standing and heading for the door when she finished popping her spine. He was really eager to see his family.

She exited the bus – thanking the driver because kudos to him for putting up with the massive fart-fest from the asshole at the front – and followed after Jimmy closely behind him. When the crowd started getting thinner, though, she made her distance greater. She didn't want to be too far away, but as long as she saw that distinct trench coat she was fine.

It was still a good walk away, and Frankie was freezing her ass off in the cold. Why was there snow on the ground in _April_? But after taking a turn into a residential area, Jimmy finally slowed down and turned into a house's walkway.

Frankie hurried to crouch behind a bush from the next house over. Once she was sure that she was concealed, she peaked over the leaves to watch the man. He was just… staring at the house. She could only guess that he was overcome with emotion. She'd be, too, if she was separated from her family by an angel for a year.

As she waited for something, anything, to happen, she filled in her time by looking at the house. It was nice, obviously a house for a nuclear family. It was well sized and was mostly white. Yellow flowers poked out of the light layer of snow at the base of the house.

Just as she was getting bored enough to start counting the flowers, Jimmy stepped up to the front door and rang the doorbell. That was all Frankie needed to be sure that this house was his destination. She revealed her phone from her pocket and opened up a new message for Sam and Dean. She began typing up her situation and the house's address when the front door opened.

At first there was silence. She hated herself for it, but Frankie's curiosity got the best of her. She stopped typing as she lifted her eyes to the now open door where a woman stood.

"We stopped looking for you," she heard her say. Jimmy responded by shaking his head and whispering something she couldn't hear from her distance. "You were dead. We, uh… we thought you were dead."

Frankie could see him take a deep breath. "I'm okay," he said, though it didn't sound like there was much truth in it.

The woman, presumably his wife, motioned for him to go inside the house, but Frankie could see the hesitation in her face. Castiel must have screwed up bad with this guy.

Now inside the house, Frankie didn't need to eavesdrop anymore. Geez, she was doing that a lot lately. However, instead of continuing her text to her brothers, she decided to call them instead. The phone rang only a few times before Sam's hopeful voice came through.

"Frankie?"

"Hiya, Sam," she humorlessly greeted.

"Frankie, where are you? Why did you leave last night?"

"You know good and well why I left, Sam." Frankie left all previous feelings she had towards Sam back in the motel.

"We were worried sick. We thought demons came and took you and Jimmy!"

"Nope. Not what happened at all." Frankie stood from her crouched position and began slowly walking down the sidewalk, sass present in her step as much as it was in her voice. "What happened was you let Jimmy slip through your fingers and I was the only one who noticed him escape. Honestly, I was just gunna let him leave, but that wouldn't be the _Winchester_ thing to do, now would it?"

"Look, this isn't a game. I know you're mad about us tricking you-"

"Oh, I'm a little more than mad," she coolly bit. "I don't even think you know how pissed I am. You do remember my situation, right? Dead mother, dead father, kidneys dying, my brothers are sick of me before even getting a chance to know me, monsters exist, I have a rightful position in a family business but I'm not _family_ enough, my brothers trick me into thinking I'll get to help people when really they want to get rid of me as soon as possible, should I go on?"

"Let me talk to her," Dean's voice barked from the other end. Oh, great. Here comes the fire. She prepared to be annoyed rather than scared. "Listen here, Frankie. I don't care what you think about us right now, but you better tell us where you are or-"

"Oh blah, blah. Would you just give me a minute to speak before you go jabbering on, please?" It was a lot easier to speak to him this way when she wasn't looking into those intense eyes of his.

"Excuse me?" he said in that intimidating, warning voice. Frankie wouldn't let it affect her, though. Not when she was on such a confident streak.

"I'm gunna tell you where we are."

" _We_?"

"Yeah, genius. I'm with Jimmy." The silence on the end was actually kind of humorous. "He left and I followed him. Are you really that surprised?" More silence followed and she could only guess he was giving Sam one of his signature looks. "That's why I called you guys. I at least have the decency to let you know that we're okay. Now you know that you _can_ trust me."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Frankie sighed into the phone. "Look, you meant what you said. I'll never be a hunter and I need to stop pretending that I'm gunna be one. Sure. Believe that all you want. But I also meant what _I_ said. I wanna help people. And right now I'm doing that by keeping an eye on Jimmy. No demons so far." She lightly smirked into the phone. "Not so useless after all, huh?"

"Tell us where you are."

"Oh, I will. In good time. I just wanna relish this feeling for a little while longer, y'know? I know something you guys don't." She had the balls to laugh a little into the phone. "How does it feel on y'all's end? Not knowing something I do?"

"Frankie," Dean snapped.

" _Alright_ ," she barked back, remembering that these guys certainly don't share her sense of humor. "I'll text you the address." Dean was so heated over the conversation that he ended it right then and there. Frankie took the phone from her ear and looked down at it. "What, no goodbye?"

She sighed as she turned back around to head back towards the house. She opened up a message to John's phone and began typing the address. She had trouble remembering the numbers on the house and went to lift her head up to check it.

She didn't get to see a single number when her foot slid against an unseen strip of ice. She throatily gasped as she launched forward, no hopes of remaining upright. She quickly knew to land on her left side to avoid injury to her already injured wrist, but she had forgotten that that hand was already taken.

Her phone that had been in her left hand flew forward when she tried to catch herself. She landed hard on the ground with the air knocked out of her, nose not even an inch away from hitting the pavement below. She would have let out a relieved sigh if not for two reasons: not having any air left in her lungs, and the unmistakable shattering crash of phone against concrete.

Her head shot up, setting her eyes down the sidewalk. "Fuck," she squeaked out. Her phone lay in a hundred separate pieces, screen not even present on it anymore. "Oh fuck, oh fuck!" she repeated as she lifted herself from the ground. "No, no, no, no!"

She hopelessly reached for the cellphone, but there wasn't very much to grab. It was only scrap now, not even resembling a phone. But she didn't care about its looks or even the fact that she no longer had a phone. She didn't finish typing! She didn't send! Sam and Dean don't know where to find her!

This was bad. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to act all tough and confident to her brothers when she told them that she had control over the situation and then when they showed up they were supposed to see that she was capable of handling a situation until they arrived. Now she was here, but they wouldn't be arriving!

Now she was stuck there to take care of the situation herself. It was up to her to make sure Jimmy wasn't taken by demons. She wasn't qualified to do that! She didn't have the training to handle this situation! She was just the messenger! She was just supposed to tell the qualified people where the man was!

She tried to calm herself. Maybe the demons weren't hot on their trail. Maybe they wouldn't be for a long time. But eventually if they did… damn she was in a pickle. What was she doing? She should have just stayed in the motel and stayed pathetic instead of _trying to be something she was not_.

Hold up.

Frankie lifted her head from the shatters of her phone. Did she not just take a long ass bus ride pumping up her self-esteem? One broken phone wasn't going to change who she wanted to be. She could still regain control over this. She just needed to find another phone was all. Only… she didn't know anybody but Jimmy and he was the one she was trying to avoid.

Oh, well. She'd… she'd figure this out somehow.

* * *

When the sun finally sank beneath the horizon, she still had no plan. She had tried to knock on a few doors, but either no one answered or the door was politely slammed in her face. She didn't even know there _was_ a polite way to slam a door, but this neighborhood proved that to her.

She was running out of time. She wasn't anywhere closer to handling the situation, but as long as no demons made an appearance they were fine. Her mind wandered to exactly what a demon would look like. The only piece of evidence she had was a clue given by Dean. When she was listening in on their conversation with Bobby, he mentioned that Bobby should protect her from any "black-eyed bastards." Now, she didn't know if that meant demons or not. It could be any number of things, but that would be an easily definable characteristic.

She sighed as she walked back to the front of the house. The lights leaked out of the windows onto the yard in front of her. Her eyes were drawn to movement towards the left side of the house. She stalked over to the side of the house to see what was going on inside. It wasn't creepy. She was just doing her job. She had to make sure Jimmy was safe.

Inside, Jimmy and his wife and daughter sat at a dinner table with a plate of sandwiches in front of them. Frankie looked over to Jimmy. He was speaking to his daughter, tears streaking down his face. He looked happy.

Something swelled in Frankie's chest as she looked at the scene before her. It was a nice family dinner with a mother, father, and daughter. That was something she never had. She never had happy family dinners. Hell, she never had family dinners. She was left alone most nights. It wasn't like it was her mother's fault. She had to provide for them, even if it meant leaving Frankie home to cook her own dinner.

Her eyes gazed at the three people inside. As uncomfortable as the wife looked, she still seemed to have a bit of comfort in knowing that her husband was finally home. The daughter was happy, the mother was hesitantly glad, and Jimmy… he was just ecstatic. He bore the face of a redeemed man.

Frankie all of a sudden felt like an ass. She just about ruined this for him. Had she actually gone through with the texting, he wouldn't have this. Sam and Dean would have shown up by now and taken him away from this. Sadness swelled in her heart. If she had this, if she was taken away from this, she wouldn't let anyone take it away from her again. She couldn't do that to Jimmy. She wouldn't.

But he needed to be protected. Well, she could do that from afar, right? They could just protect from afar like a superhero. Yeah, Frankie the Superhero. That sounded better tha Frankie the Girl Who Splits Up Families for Her Own Gain.

"Hey!" came a random voice from behind her. She whipped around, having momentarily forgotten that she was literally stalking someone. A tall, bearded man stood at the sidewalk, hands on his hips as he glared at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Who are you?"

"U-Uh…," was all Frankie could muster.

"Yeah, well get outta here before I call the cops on you, huh?"

Frankie didn't need to be told twice. She hurried away from the window and hurried passed the stranger. She dared to have some confidence and went to look up to the man's face as she passed.

Black eyes.

She froze, stopping her next step just as she passed him. No, she didn't just see that. She didn't just look up to that man who was shooing her away and see pitch black eyes.

She swung her head around as he glared at her, eyes now perfectly normal, as if they had never been anything different. She glared back in confusion before he walked up to the front of the house and rang the doorbell. Frankie should turn around and walk away. There was no way she saw what she just did. She only saw what she wanted to see… right?

She crouched behind the stone column that decorated the front of the house as the woman appeared back in the doorway. She wore a smile this time and immediately invited the man inside. Okay, that was that. There was no way he was a demon. She knew him.

But he could have been possessed. Sam and Dean mentioned that on more than one occasion. What if the demons caught word of Jimmy's location and possessed their friend to gain entrance into the house?

She had no solid evidence to make that assumption. And she had no place to take action. She just needed to get to a phone, and fast. Sure, she wanted Jimmy to have a nice time with his family, but seeing what she thought she saw triggered her mind to think of what could happen if that guy was a threat.

She jumped at sudden yelling from inside. She immediately ran over to the right side of the house to look into the window. There she saw Jimmy repeatedly whacking the stranger with a bottle. Just smacking his face over and over again with a beer bottle! Frankie couldn't believe what she was seeing! She thought Jimmy was a good guy, not this violent man in front of her!

But she stripped away any thought of him being a dangerous man when she took his family deeper into the house, leaving the bleeding stranger on the floor. Frankie had at first wondered if she should have gone in to help him, but she wouldn't dare do that once he sat up from the floor… with his pitch black eyes.

Oh god. Oh fuck, it was a demon. It had to be. She wasn't seeing things. She really walked passed a demon.

And she let him into the house!

She had to fix this. She scanned the house for any entrance other than the front door. The element of surprise was crucial. She spotted a back door. Yes, that was her next mode of action.

She took off sprinting to the back of the house, her lungs immediately burning. Damn, she needed to work out more. When she finally reached the door, she peeked in first to see what the situation looked like. Fear spiked up her spine when she saw the demon grab Jimmy's daughter and hold her with a knife to her throat.

There was no more need to hesitate. She had to go in. She had to pull a move like with the ghouls. Damn, she was so stupid. She had absolutely no place to go in there. She would most likely cause more trouble than help, but here she was, tightening her grip on her weapon and narrowing her sights on the bastard that was holding a young girl hostage.

No training, no plan, she had her machete at the ready and burst through the door.

She let out an echoing battle cry as she sprinted towards the demon. He turned his head back just as Frankie ran right into his back, blade piercing him like a javelin. Frankie had closed her eyes tight when she first made contact, but when her eyes opened she couldn't physically close them again from what she saw.

The man's eyes and mouth leaked light and his entire body seemed to twitch as if he were being electrocuted. Shocked confusion took hold of her features, and she took a cautioned step backwards. How the actual hell…

His body fell limp to the floor, light and shockwaves diminishing. Stunned where she stood, Frankie looked down at her machete. She just caught the last glimpses of streaks of light underneath the fresh blood before the light disappeared completely.

"The fuck," she whispered under her breath as she lifted her eyes to the people before her. Jimmy was being pinned to the ground by another stranger, this one a woman, but with black eyes as well.

"Hunter," she growled. Frankie would have found that to be a complement if she wasn't staring death in the face. She had to show some form of bravery in the face of danger, so Frankie's only response was lifting her machete back up to protect herself. The demon bared her teeth in retaliation, a guttural growl clawing its way up her throat.

"No!" Jimmy's wife yelled as she lunged for the demon, rolling her off of the man beneath her. Snapping out of her momentary shock, Frankie hurried over to Jimmy and grabbed his coat, hoisting him up and pushing him towards the door. He reached for his daughter when he looked back towards his struggling wife.

"Amelia!" he called after her.

Frankie wasn't thinking ahead of time about her actions. Honestly, that was the only way she would get through this fight. She ran over to the pair and dove for the demon who was seconds away from clawing out Amelia's eyes.

"Run!" she shouted after the family. Jimmy's wife and daughter showed no hesitation in leaving immediately, but when Frankie took another look towards the door, she saw the man himself still there, unsure of whether to help or not. "Jimmy, go! Now!" she commanded. He hesitated one last time before going for the door.

Something hit Frankie's face hard, knocking her off of the demon. Another blow to her face sent it turning the other way before one last hit to her stomach sent her flying backwards into an end table.

Her body hurt all over. She knew her wrist would be aggravated by that last blow. She opened her eyes to see the demon looming over her. "I've just about had it with two-bit hunters ruining my day," she snarled. Frankie looked around for her machete. It was her only defense against the threat in front of her. "Looking for this?"

Her eyes snapped back up to see the demon holding her weapon. The very sight of it handling something of her mother's fueled her anger enough to push passed the pain. "Now this is new," the thing continued, gazing curiously at the bloodied blade. Frankie glared up at her as the demon's brows furrowed. "Never seen one like this before." The demon's black eyes faded to their normal appearance, scowling down at the girl. "Where'd you get this?"

"Fuck off," Frankie spat up at the monster as she tried to sit up.

The things merely chuckled down to her, readying the blade to use it on Frankie. The girl's eyes widened, confident anger quickly leaking out of her. "You shouldn't have come here, you little bitch."

"Back at ya, whore," snarled a voice from the side.

Both the demon and Frankie looked over to see Dean rushing in and rearing back his own knife at the demon, but before the blade could hit her, her body twitched back as a huge black cloud flew out of her mouth and into an air vent, demon-less body falling to the floor.

Frankie stared wide-eyed ahead at where the demon had been standing. Her fear finally caught up to her, paralyzing her where she sat. _'What… w-what the hell…?'_ she muttered in her head. She could barely comprehend what had just happened. She only broke out of her shock when Dean appeared in front of her and reached his hand down to grab her arm.

"You alright?" he quickly asked, pulling her up to her feet. She couldn't answer. She only gave a single nod before Dean was pulling her towards the door. Before they could leave, though, she reached down and snatched her machete from the bitch's hand.

They exited the house only to be met with the Impala. Jimmy was shoving his daughter inside and looking around for his wife before she appeared right behind him. Dean was busy pushing her in behind them, not worried about the lack of space in the backseat.

Frankie was still in a state of mild shock, but starting to break through it. She started calming her panting when Sam looked behind his seat. "You okay?" he frantically asked. The others nodded their heads, but Frankie couldn't bring herself to. She was still trying to process the previous events.

It wasn't long before the Impala was speeding down the road to safety from the house.

* * *

The car eventually stopped in an empty parking garage, allowing Frankie to step out of the car to get off of Jimmy's lap. Yeah, that was one awkward ride.

Sam, Dean, and Jimmy exited the car, too, leaving Amelia and Jimmy's daughter alone inside. That was good. They had been through a lot. Frankie stood next to Sam as her brothers talked to Jimmy.

"You were right," Jimmy said, looking back at his family in the car.

"Sorry we were," Dean sighed.

"But I'm telling you… I don't know anything."

"I don't think they're inclined to believe you."

"And even if they did," Sam added, "you're a vessel. They're still gunna wanna know what makes you tick."

"Which means vivisection, if they're feeling generous," Dean followed up.

So vessels were special. At least Frankie had an answer to that question after this whole ordeal.

"I'm gunna tell you once again," Sam continued, "you're putting your family in danger. You _have_ to come with us."

Jimmy paused for a moment before turning to look back at his family. "How long?" he asked, looking back at Sam and Dean. "And don't give me that 'cross that bridge when we get to it' crap."

"Don't you get it? Forever. The demons will never stop. You can never, _ever_ be with your family." Frankie looked over to Sam. He had a very different feeling to him than usual. He wasn't the collected, reasoning brother she previously knew. She took a small step away from him. "So you either get as far away from them as possible, or you put a bullet in your head! And that's how you keep your family safe, but there's no getting out and there's no going home."

"Well, don't sugarcoat it, Sam," Dean sarcastically mumbled. Frankie was thinking the same thing and glared up at the taller brother.

"I'm just telling him the truth, Dean. Someone has to."

Jimmy had the face of a broken man. He knew Sam was right. He knew there was no going back, and that was very present in his downcast eyes. He lowered his head to collect himself before asking if he could say goodbye. Sam and Dean, of course, agreed. As big of assholes as they were, they weren't heartless. They gave him a few minutes to explain the situation to his family, but urged him to be brief in case demons weren't far behind.

Once Jimmy crouched by the open door of the Impala, it left Frankie, Sam, and Dean alone and standing not far behind. The awkwardness of the situation finally dawned on Frankie. She spared a look over to her brothers, who were staring right back at her. She swallowed, and averted her eyes as she collected what she wanted to say.

"You guys got here fast," she muttered, forcing her eyes back on them. "How'd you find us?"

"We tracked your call," Dean said, gaining her attention. "It wasn't that hard to find you after that. No thanks to you."

"I know, I'm sorry. I…," she sighed, knowing that what she was about to say made her sound very incapable of handling herself. It was almost better to admit defeat right then and there.

"Do you even realize how dangerous what you did was?" Sam scolded, sounding rougher than what Frankie had hoped. He was using the same tone of voice that he used with Jimmy.

"I know," she mumbled like a scolded child would.

"You should have told us Jimmy escaped the moment you saw him leave. You should _not_ have gone off by yourself trying to be the hero, Frankie! You know what we told you about trying to be a hero!"

"I _know_."

"If you wanna be a family so bad, _listen_ to us! We know how these things go and it would have ended really, _really_ badly had we not gotten there when we did!"

" _I_. _Know_."

"Why is it so difficult to accept that we're hard on you for a reason? You were almost killed!"

"Yeah, and what of it?" she snapped, getting just the slightest bit in his face, though it was hard to do when he was so tall. "At least I would go out helping somebody. That's how I wanna go out. You two may be comfortable with me dying slowly and painfully all by myself, but I'm not!"

"This isn't funny. This isn't a game. You can't just go off and pretend to know what you're doing, that's not how this works."

"Well you weren't gunna show me how, so why complain?" Frankie took a moment to calm her quickly growing temper. "Listen, I know you guys don't want the responsibility of looking after me. I get that I am a lot more weight on your shoulders than you need, but I am _not_ going back to Alabama. I'm too involved in the hunter world now. I'm never gunna escape it. Hell, I just went up against demons! I'm probably on someone's list now."

"Yeah, and that was a _stupid_ move. You probably _are_ on someone's list. That's gunna make it a helluva lot harder to keep you safe! Don't you see the consequences of your actions, Frankie? You've made all of our lives harder!" Frankie flinched under the harsh tone of his words.

"Easy, Sam. Cut her some slack, alright?" Dean interjected. Frankie glanced over to him, confusion on her face as much as it was on Sam's.

"What, you're defending her now?" Sam asked.

"Sam, you _were_ the one who let Jimmy escape. And you _were_ the one who wanted to bring her out here. Hell, she even saved the guy's life. You can't exactly put her on trial for that."

Frankie was impressed and even shocked at Dean. She never thought she'd see the day when he would defend her. She glanced back over to Sam, hoping that he agreed with his brother. "Yeah, but she still should have texted us the address when she said she would." The tall man glared down to her. "Why _didn't_ you text us?"

"Believe me, I was in the process of texting y'all, but…," she reached into her pocket and revealed the broken mess that used to be her phone. "I kinda dropped the ball on this one. And by ball, I mean… I mean my phone. I tried finding another one, but people here are dicks."

Sam and Dean nodded down to the pitiful heap of shattered screen. At least they were calming down now. Sam was still angry, but hey, so was Frankie. She didn't forgive him for lying to her. Even if he meant it with good intentions, he still lied, and that was something that struck a nerve with her.

After a moment of sighing and huffing shared between the three of them, Sam walked off to ready a car that Frankie was sure had been stolen. That just left her and Dean standing next to each other.

Frankie looked over to her brother. Feeling her eyes on him, he shifted his eyes over to meet her own. She tightened her lips, knowing that she should say something, but not entirely sure how he would react to it. Sure, he just defended her against Sam's out-of-place anger, but he was still _Dean_ , the brother known for out-of-place anger.

She sucked it up and sighed heavily through her nose. "Thank you," she said, giving him a genuine look of gratitude. "For everything. The demon, a-and with Sam, just… thanks for having my back."

It took a while for him to respond, and when he did it wasn't anything close to what she thought he'd say. "One of the demons was dead in there," he grunted. Frankie narrowed her eyes. What was he getting at? "Any idea how that happened?"

Oh, now she understood. He was insinuating that she killed it. Well, this would be the opportune moment to take her stand, to prove herself. This would be the moment to reveal the truth that she wasn't entirely useless and that she could hold her own in the field, against demons no less.

But there was that feeling, the feeling of doubt. The look in his eyes didn't help. He looked curious, suspicious, and even a little concerned, it seemed, all at the same time. Why? Well, she could guess why.

He wanted to know how. If she killed a demon, how? She didn't use salt, she didn't use Holy Water, and she knew nothing about exorcisms or if they even worked. A quick look at the crime scene would have also revealed that the thing was bleeding, so violence was used. And since it was used, he wanted to know what it took to kill it.

But honest to God, Frankie didn't know how she killed it. She went in that house blind, thinking only of stabbing the threat, not knowing whether or not it would even work. But it did, and in the most amazingly dumbfounding way. Once the blade hit, it lit up like a Christmas tree and sparked like a lightning rod. Now how the hell did she do that? Did all machetes do that to demons?

No. She didn't think so. Not based on how the other one reacted to her weapon. She said she had never seen it before, meaning that there must be weapons like it or that at least do the same sort of damage. Then she asked where she got it.

There was only one conclusion she could come up with. Her mom's machete was no ordinary machete.

Now that was just crazy. Absolutely bonkers. Machetes couldn't be magical, even in a world where ghosts and boogiemen turned out to be real. But… if it _was_ somehow magic, then, boy, did she have questions. What made it special? Where did she get it? Why did she have it? Unfortunately, those were all questions that she wouldn't get an answer to, seeing as the source was gone.

So what was she going to tell Dean? The truth? Why did she feel like she shouldn't? Well… she also thought she knew the answer to that one, too. What if she told them her machete was special and they stole it from her? She hoped upon hope that they wouldn't do such a thing, but taking their previous actions into consideration crushed that hope.

She looked directly into Dean's eyes. "A sucky demon?" she brushed off. Well, that was a sucky excuse, and that was apparent with the look Dean gave her.

"Frankie," he warned. "Be serious."

"I-I am being serious! I don't know how I… h-how it died." Dean took a slow step towards her. "Really!"

"Really? Sure you didn't… I dunno. Kill it yourself?"

Frankie scoffed in his face. "Me? Dean, c'mon. It's me you're talking about. I sprained my wrist trying to chop off a ghoul's head. I mean… you expect _me_ to take down a _demon_?"

"I never said that. I'm just tryin' to figure out what happened back there." His eyes contradicted his words. He was definitely accusing her of killing the demon and he wanted to know how she did it.

Frankie felt sweat collecting at the back of her neck. That was strange since it was too cold to be wearing one jacket outside, at least for a Southerner like her. He was trying to corner her, trap her against her own words. She averted her eyes, even went as far as taking a step away from him and tightening her grip on her bag. This didn't go unnoticed by the man. Frankie brought her hand to scratch at her head. It was then when she noticed that her – or rather that bum's – hat was gone. It must have flown off with the attack.

She was starting to panic over not having a backup plan for avoiding his accusations, but luckily for her she didn't have to for long. Jimmy and his family walked near them as Jimmy gave his last goodbye to his daughter. Dean kept his intrusive glaring until Sam stepped away from the car and presented it to Amelia. The older brother still kept his suspicious aura, but his hard stare was pointed elsewhere.

It was an emotional moment for Jimmy. He was saying goodbye to his family forever. In order to protect them, he could never be a part of their lives again. Frankie couldn't help but feel partially responsible. She had no reason to. She never knew him or Castiel or Sam or Dean before this dilemma began, but she was with Sam and Dean now, taking him away from his family. Her brothers would deny it until the day they die, but she was a part of the team for this one situation.

Now they were getting into the Impala. Sam got in the passenger seat as usual, Jimmy settled into the backseat, and Dean was opening the door to the driver's side. Before he ducked in, though, Frankie got to catch one last curious glower before he tore his eyes away and crouched into his seat.

Great. Frankie didn't need him poking around in her secret situation, not before she could figure it out all by herself. She was worried enough as is over what her mother was keeping from her. Why did her mom have a machete that could _kill demons_? With a sigh, she decided it was something she would just need to sleep on.

* * *

She had fallen asleep on the drive back to Bobby's, but the slumber was crudely interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. She quietly groaned and turned to get comfortable again, but when she cracked open her eyes and realized that she was using a sleeping Jimmy as a pillow, she pulled away and sat up straight.

"Who is this?" Sam's voice sounded from the front. Frankie followed his arm as he reached back and tapped his phone at Jimmy, waking him from his sleep, too. "Hey. It's your wife."

Jimmy took the phone from the man and brought it to his ear. Frankie decided that the call wasn't her business and she leaned against her door, trying to get comfortable again. "Amelia," Jimmy spoke into the phone. Frankie curled herself up as best as she could, using her duffle bag as a makeshift pillow. Before she drifted off to sleep, though, she absentmindedly glanced at Jimmy once more.

She did a double take. Jimmy had turned pale. He no longer wore the calm face of a man greeting his wife. He instead stared straight ahead, mouth parted and eyes teeming with fear. That fear was as present in his face as it was in his quiet, terrified voice.

"Oh my god…"


	11. Chapter 10 - Blood

"Sonuva bitch," Dean growled as he hit the brakes and spun the car around. All the passengers in the car grasped at whatever they could to keep from being flung around, but unfortunately for Frankie, she got a whole Jimmy Novak thrown onto her. But she didn't care. Not after what Jimmy had just exclaimed.

Demons – _more_ demons – possessed his wife and kidnapped his daughter, holding them hostage in some godforsaken warehouse. Frankie looked over at the man in horror. This guy just couldn't catch a break!

"A-Are you sure?" she found herself blurting out. She immediately wished she could have taken it back. It was a stupid ass question.

"Yeah! I'm pretty damn sure!" he barked. She deserved that. "They want me in exchange for them. They said come alone or else they… they'll…"

"Hey," Dean grunted from the front. "They're not gunna do a thing, you hear me? We'll get 'em back."

"How? They want me to come by myself or else they'll _murder_ _my_ _family_! I can't go up against them! Not without Cas."

"Look, don't worry," Sam assured in a calming voice to try and sooth the frantic Jimmy, but it did nothing to help. Frankie no longer felt like that tone of voice was genuine. "You're not gunna go through this alone. We'll have your back the entire time." He continued before Jimmy could get a word of rebuttal out. "Dean and I will be right behind you. You'll face them alone and we'll come in to take out any demons guarding the place."

"So you've done this before?"

There was a small pause before either of them answered. "We've had our share of ambushes. Trust us, we'll get through this," Dean said.

Jimmy's head fell in his hands. Frankie turned her head over to him, sympathy coating her face. Why did all of this have to happen to this one man? What did he do to deserve all of this? First he's taken away from his family for a year, then he comes back only for them to be attacked by demons, and now demons have possessed his wife and kidnapped his daughter all because he was a vessel to an angel. To her, that seemed like an unjust punishment! And what was so special about a vessel anyway? Shouldn't it be the angel they should be going after?

And speaking of angels, where was this Castiel Sam and Dean have been talking about? Where did he run – or rather fly – off to? Did he just desert Jimmy when he was in trouble? Dick. Seems like they could use him now.

They eventually rolled up to an old abandoned warehouse. That must have been where they were keeping his family. As soon as Dean turned the car off, he and Sam and Jimmy swung open their doors and hurried out of the Impala.

"Alright, they're expecting you to come alone and that's exactly what you're gunna do," Dean announced. Sam followed him by explaining their roles.

"We'll work our way through the catwalks. We'll be right behind you."

Frankie opened up her own door and walked out to join the group. "All you gotta do is stay calm and stall. Let us do our job," Dean continued as she rounded the car.

"You want me to stay calm? This is my family we're talking about," Jimmy argued.

"Listen to me," Dean said in his low, controlled voice. "This will work, you understand? Nobody's gunna get hurt."

"Yeah whatever," the frazzled man huffed. Jimmy turned on his heels and walked off to some unspoken location. "Gimme a minute, okay?" he shouted back, although he didn't seem to give them any room to argue.

"There's no way they're expecting him to come alone, Dean," Sam sighed. "You know this is probably a trap."

"Yeah I know," the other man nodded, smirk growing on his face. "That's why I have a plan."

"Well that's a relief," Frankie half-joked behind him. Dean jolted just the smallest bit in surprise. He apparently didn't notice her walking up to stand next to him. He swung his body around to look down at her, new scowl coating his previously determined face.

"Who told you to get outta the car?" he grunted. He looked down at her as if he'd had just about enough of her for one night, which – from knowing him as long as she had – was probably exactly how he felt.

"Uh, no one," she answered, an eyebrow quirked up at him. "So you have a plan?"

"Woah, woah, hold up." Dean took a moment to let out a huff of a humorless laugh. "You're not coming with us."

Now both eyebrows rose up. "B-But… I can-," she took a moment to catch a breath, calming her panicked stuttering. "Those people are in trouble. You'll need as much help as you can get! I can help!"

" _Frankie_ ," Sam snapped from beside his brother, his sudden presence and sternness causing her to slightly jump. "Can you stop this? Please? How many times do we have to tell you to not get involved?"

Frankie puffed out her cheeks. "Until you get tired of hearing yourself say it." She glared back against their scowls. "How many times do _I_ have to say that this is the life I choose? I have to help those people! Remember what you told me, Sam? This life is something you feel like you _have_ to do. Or was that a lie, too?"

"Frankie, stop. Don't you see that we're trying to help you? We don't want you to get hurt!"

"I'm already hurt, Sam." She repressed the urge to hold her wrist. "And I don't care about that stuff. I'll get hurt if it means that they don't have to."

"You're being delusional."

"No, I'm _not_ ," she growled up at the tall man. "For once, I'm thinking rationally. I have an expiration date and I'm not gunna choose to spend the time I have left not saving people. I'll die so others get to live."

"Look," Dean butt in. "Frankie, you don't know what you're getting yourself into. You've only just dipped a toe into our lives. It gets so much worse."

"So, I'll learn more about the life. I'll learn on the job like you said I would."

" _No_."

"No?"

"Yeah, no."

"No," she repeated, giving a clarifying nod. "And if I just start hunting without y'all?"

That did the trick in tightening their expressions. They set their jaws at the small girl. Frankie kept her sturdy stance, not letting their condescending scowls move her. "That's not happening," Sam firmly declared.

"And y'all are gunna stop me?"

"You're damn right we will," Dean barked. Frankie held her glare on him for a few riled seconds.

She took a moment to breathe again, this time stepping back and collecting herself so she could think clearly. She would get nowhere at this rate. Shaking her head, she sighed as she looked back up to the two scowling brothers. "Look… I know I'm inexperienced. Heh, I think I'm the most inexperienced person in the world for this… but… but I _can_ help. I can do something! Anything! I know you guys don't want me inside there, and, to be honest, I don't wanna go in there either. But Jimmy and his family are in danger. I can't stand by knowing that I probably have a hand in that happening. I won't just sit in the car while he is probably getting dismembered or whatever demons do to people. You don't want me to get hurt, fine. But let me do _something_." She paused when an idea struck her, her face lightening up just the smallest bit.

"What if I used myself as bait? Or, y'know, as a distraction. I can get their attention and that'll give you guys enough time to get the upper hand."

"No," Dean spat. Frankie looked back into his eyes, her confidence wavering every time he said that word. Each utterance of it added another weight on her shoulders, and she wasn't very strong.

She sighed and sent him an even and negotiating gaze. "B-But if you'll just consider it, I really could do it. It could work. I can go in through-"

"No, Frankie," Sam followed up. Frankie then switched her gaze into his eyes. Looking at the hard face of a man she previously tagged as the 'nice brother' really sent her mind into a whirlwind. It seemed that calming down and clearing her head did nothing to help her. All it did was put Determined Frankie in the dark while Weakling Frankie returned behind the wheel.

"I-I-If I come in from another entrance and make some noise, _really_ make some noise, then-"

" _Frankie_!" they both shouted in unison. She jumped at the steely edge to both of their voices. She almost didn't want to look up at their faces. The harsh tone of their voices, sounding an awful lot like those of scolding parents, was the final push in putting her back in her place.

This wasn't supposed to happen. No, Determined Frankie had to come back. She was the driving force behind saving Jimmy. She wouldn't give in to the angered, frustrated glowers of her two older brothers – two older brothers who, despite lying to her and breaking their promise, she desperately wanted to impress. But that didn't seem probable. The way she saw it, the only way to appease them would be to crawl back into the car and sit there until the plan was seen through. And, yeah, maybe it would go better without her running around to cause even more trouble.

But she wasn't going to do that. Jimmy and his family were in trouble, and she knew she could do something to help them. Yes, Sam and Dean would probably never give her another chance to come out in the field with them again – or give her another day outside of Alabama – but Frankie knew that them being there was her fault.

If she hadn't gotten distracted and had her head in the game back at their house, that one demon would be stabbed and wouldn't have possessed Amelia. Frankie knew that was her bad, and now she needed to right it. But Sam and Dean wouldn't let her right her wrong, so she had to suck it up and muscle passed their disapproving scowls.

"If you guys aren't with me," she evenly said, crossing her arms over her chest, "then you're against me."

She would have gotten whiplash with how fast Dean grabbed her arm and spun her around. He opened the door to the Impala and threw her in, causing Frankie to gasp out in shock as she landed inside. Her face hit and skidded across the leather of the seat before she pushed herself up, turning back to face the brother that had physically thrown her into his car.

"You're gunna _stay_ in there, you hear me?" he snarled, pointing a finger at her, eyes piercing so deep that she could almost physically feel them as much as his hands. "If you listen to one thing in your entire life, listen to this. Stay. In. The car."

He leaned back from the car to slam the door, but Frankie flew forward and caught it before it slammed shut. "Dean, no! Put me aside for one second! There are _lives_ at stake!" she bit back, hoping that he could understand who really mattered at that moment.

"Yeah, and you're not gunna be one of them!" he growled, leaning back down to get in her face. She leaned away, blown back by the irately commanding look he was giving her alone. He was mad. She could see that clearly.

Before she could get another word out, the door slammed shut, glass nearly hitting her nose. She watched them storm off, walking around a corner to begin their master plan to save Jimmy and his family with only the two of them.

Frankie screamed. She spun around, snatching her bag and hitting it. She screamed even more when pain spiked in her bad wrist. This didn't matter to her. If anything, it felt good. Almost punishment for getting herself in that situation. For endangering Jimmy and his family. For putting her trust in her brothers. For still wanting their acceptance despite proving that they only cared about her getting out of their hair. She hit it again. And again. And then moved to kicking it, screaming more and more as she did so.

This was bullshit! Could they not see that she was trying to help? Well, yes they did, and that was part of the problem. They didn't want her help. So, she couldn't fire a gun and could barely handle a blade, so what?! Sam even told Dean days ago that they were short staffed! Well, here's a damn human being in the flesh trying to help! Why couldn't they see that?!

What was their deal? Was it just because they don't want to feel guilty about her dying on their watch? That was pretty damn selfish. What about her wants? Huh? What about her need to save people? They didn't have to be the only ones to do that! Sure, she could only provide distractions right now, but that was an important element, too!

And who knew how many demons they were going up against? They could be completely outnumbered. Just like Sam said, it was probably a trap, and they still wanted her to wait on the sidelines? Hell no. She wasn't going to be the useless broad who sat back while there were people in danger.

She clenched her jaw as she grabbed her bag and furiously unzipped it. She fished around for her machete, looking up and around outside to make sure that Sam or Dean weren't watching her prepare to go rouge.

But her eyes were caught in the review mirror up front. Her fury stilled, as did her rummaging, as she gazed into the mirror, a reflection looking right back at her. It was her own, but she honestly wouldn't have guessed that a few days ago.

Her face fell as she looked at the beaten, tired face drenched in frantic anger staring back at her. The creased lines on the forehead and the deeply furrowed brows didn't look familiar. The bruise on the left eye and the bandages coating the right ear were so foreign to her. But what was so beyond recognition were the two eyes that glared back at her.

What were once two honey colored bulbs in the innocent head of a hopeful girl were now two sunken pits of desperate desire, never pointing in a singular direction. Where those two eyes once gazed upon her mother with sadness and faint hope, now they looked at the world with uncertainty, and, as of recent events, now looked at her two newfound half-brothers as an indignant preteen who wasn't getting her way.

She sucked in a breath. Was that how she was sounding to them? Was she sounding like a spoiled brat who wasn't getting everything she wished? _'But it's the family business! I'm family! I deserve to be a part of it!'_ she had argued. _'I was just gunna let him leave, but that wouldn't be the Winchester thing to do, now would it?'_ she had sneered. _'You two may be comfortable with me dying slowly and painfully all by myself, but I'm not!'_ she had whined.

Is that how she really sounded to them? Was she just some obstacle that they were saddled with? Was she really just a little girl who was running around with the loaded gun she found in the closet?

Thinking about it made her feel awful. In the four days that she had known her brothers, she had gone from curious sister wanting to know all about her brothers, to terrified of them, back to interested in them, to wanting to join them in the family business, to so mad at them that she had threatened to go into a dangerous line of work alone just to retaliate against them. With all of that along with the death of her parents, she was honestly so emotionally exhausted that it was a wonder as to how she hadn't collapsed yet.

She brought a hand up to rub her forehead, pushing the bangs out of her eyes. Goddamn, did she need to calm down or what? Letting out a series of deep breaths, she sat back in the seat and leaned her head back with her eyes closed. "Frankie, girl. What are you doing?" she choked out.

She wasn't the same girl she was back in Alabama, and she wanted to believe that she was better than that version, but looking at how she was reacting to her brothers, seeing how she was so determined to go out and do something without thinking long and hard about her _own_ safety instead of others, it didn't look like that was so. Yes, she would put everyone in the world before herself, but there was a certain necessity in self-care that she was severely overlooking. It wasn't good when two men who she just met a few days ago were thinking more about her safety than herself. And all of that for the sake of being a hunter? All of that for impressing her brothers that didn't want that life for her? What was to gain from that?

She knew what she had to do. Reasonable Frankie was stepping into the spotlight. She needed to stay put, stay in the car and wait for her brothers to return. And then when they returned she would apologize for being such a pain. She still wasn't going back home, but she would let them know that she was going to back off. She could see that she was being selfish and wasn't going to push for the life… for a long time.

It was still something she wanted to do, but she would wait a while until they got used to the idea of her being their sister and the fact that John probably had even more kids than they knew about. And as well as that, she would give them time to work on their current mission, whatever that was. They mentioned it on the drive over to Bobby's but she had no idea what they were talking about. Maybe that was for the best. She didn't want to pry and make them even angrier at her.

She had plenty of time to prove herself to her brothers. If she couldn't stay at Bobby's house, maybe she could find a place nearby to settle into and visit often. They wouldn't like it at all, but they didn't have room to complain. She wasn't going back to Bama, and she meant that. Instead, she would find another way to get what she wanted, and she would use a way that wouldn't stress out her brothers more than her previous actions had.

 _BANG_!

She gasped, jumping in her seat, as she heard a distinctive singular gunshot from inside the warehouse. She twisted her head around to look towards the building, barely lit by the moonlight above her.

Something was wrong. Something didn't feel right. Why would there be one gunshot if there were multiple threats… and multiple innocent people to shoot at? No, something was terribly wrong. She could feel it in her gut. Call it a paranoid intuition, but she knew she couldn't just stay in the car to wait for an answer as to what happened.

But she couldn't leave! She had just worked herself up to come to the conclusion that she was not going to be the Determined, Irrational Frankie anymore! She was even going to apologize to her brothers for them breaking their promise! That was a rarity when it came to her.

But what if someone was hurt? What if it was Amelia or Jimmy or Sam or Dean or, God forbid, Jimmy's _daughter_?! She couldn't go in to help, but she had to! She needed to listen to her brothers, but she needed to know what happened! She wanted to help, but what could go wrong if she did?

The anxiety was killing her, and so was staying in the car. To hell with waiting while bad things were going down, she'd still apologize, but after she helped out those people!

She reached back into her bag and grabbed her machete before bolting out of the car. She sprinted across the dirt and shards of broken glass towards the nearest entrance to the building and slipped through the door as quietly as she could manage.

She creeped in and hide behind a large pipe system looking through an opening at the scene that had been going on without her. Lo and behold, Sam and Dean had been captured, two demons holding them back. She turned to look at what they would be held back from, and that was when she saw Jimmy sprawled out on the floor and holding his crimson gushing stomach.

She stifled a gasp and chose to hold a hand over her mouth instead. So that's what the gunshot was. Frankie was filled with remorse. After all of this shit he still came out wounded. Where the hell was that angel?

She had to muffle another gasp when she looked across the room. Another demon grabbed a long, metallic pipe and walked up to his unconscious daughter tied up in a chair. Frankie shook her head at the realization of what he was going to do with that pipe. Why wasn't anyone moving to do something?!

And that's when she realized that she could do something. She wasn't captured, she wasn't shot. She was the only one who could do something. She tightened her hold on her machete, but she was too late when the demon swung the pipe at the little girl. Frankie moved from behind the pipes, a gasp just behind her lips.

But she was frozen in place when her eyes landed on the girl as she grabbed the pipe mid-swing. Frankie was baffled at her strength, but not nearly as baffled when she placed her hand on the demons head. Light spewed out of the thing's eyes and mouth, an agonized yell leaving it before it collapsed to the floor.

How the hell…?

Just as the thing fell, Sam and Dean burst into action. Frankie stepped back as she turned her attention to the brawling between her brothers and the demons that had been holding them back. She held her machete tighter as she looked between the fighting.

Her eyes landed on Sam. He had the upper hand, a knife in his grip as he pinned one demon to the ground. Dean on the other hand was in trouble. Frankie watched as the monster held Dean down and repeatedly punched him in the face. Frankie felt an angry bubble grow bigger in her chest after each blow.

She found herself sprinting forward towards the dueling men and lunged for the demon, just as she had the other one back at the house. She rolled on the floor with the thing, trying to get the upper hand, but it was much stronger than her and straddled her to the ground.

"Frankie?!" she heard Dean call out, but she didn't hear him as she swung her blade up towards the demon's throat.

It caught her wrist, squeezing it right where it hurt the most. She let out a quick huff of a yelp, but otherwise kept it as a growl as she kicked up to the demon's crotch. It yelled out in pain, giving Frankie a small window to rip her arm out of its grasp and crawl out from under it. Narrowing her brows, she reared back a foot to kick it right in its damn face. She kicked it once, twice, and went for a third time, but a foreign hand replaced her shoe on its forehead.

Confused, she looked up to see Jimmy's daughter killing the demon the same way she killed the other one. Frankie's eyes snapped up to the demon as it screamed in pain, eyes and mouth lighting up like flashlights, before falling on top of her.

She huffed out in light pain as the heavy weight of the body crushed her. She tried wiggling out from under it, but two hands grabbed her from under her arms and hoisted her up from under it. She looked behind her to see Dean. Oh no, here comes the disapproving glares.

But instead of glares, he sent her a concerned look, a look like you would give someone if you were asking if they were okay. Panting from her scuffle, she went to nod, but she was stopped by the look he was giving something else beyond her. She furrowed her brows as she turned her head to look in that direction, and what she found stilled her heart, her blood running cold.

Sam was on top of the demon, his face buried in its neck. It wriggled helplessly under him as he sucked on its neck like a vampire. Suddenly, he stopped, lifting his head as if he could sense her, Dean, and the girl staring at him. He turned his head around to look at them, his movements manic and jerky.

Frankie felt actual fear rise in her chest at the state of her brother. Blood coated his entire mouth and colored his teeth red. He looked like a monster! He looked like the ghoul that nearly ate her alive. Frankie couldn't believe what she was looking at. She took a small step back as his eyes landed on her.

He panted as he turned back around to look down at the demon. He took the knife in both of his hands and stabbed it right in its chest. Frankie watched, dumbfounded, as the body of the thing arched under the blade, its body twitching and sparking with light just like the other had under her own blade. Their knife could kill demons, too?

Sam stood up, taking heavy breaths as he whipped around to face the three staring back at him. Frankie jumped at his sudden movements, wondering if he would try to drink her blood, too.

His hand quickly rose towards them. Dean flinched next to her. That confused her more than anything. Didn't Dean know about any of this? Just as she wondered that, Dean grabbed her and quickly pulled her towards him. She almost looked back at him before she saw the possessed Amelia run up to them and suddenly stop.

She held her stomach, looking dead ahead at Sam as a black cloud – the exact one from earlier – flew out of her mouth and collected above the floor. Frankie whipped her head back over to Sam, watching with fearful eyes as he seemed to be controlling this action. Moving her eyes back to the demon cloud at their feet, she watched as the cloud shot into the floor in a smoldering circle before disappearing completely.

Amelia was on her knees coughing and hacking. Frankie could understand that. She just coughed up an entire demon! Dean hurried over to the woman and kneeled down to her, holding her shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. He looked back up at his brother. Frankie couldn't explain the look he sent him and she honestly didn't want to know.

She warily turned her head over to Sam. He stood at his full height, slightly panting from whatever display that just was, and stared down at Dean and Amelia. Frankie stared at him in a much different light. How could she not after _that_? What the hell _was_ that?! He just forcibly pulled a demon out of someone and forced it into the ground! How… how could he do that? Was Sam… was he a… a monster?

No, he couldn't be. He hunted monsters. There was no way he could hunt _and_ be a monster. But then what on Earth was that that he just did? Was he… dangerous? Could he do more than what he just did? It was certainly possible if he could do an exorcism with his bare hands! Could he hurt someone with whatever powers he supposedly had? Could he hurt her?

His eyes cut to her. She let out a small gasp and stepped back. She couldn't deny that she was quite a bit scared of him. He used to be her human brother, but now he could do that shit by extending his hand and thinking really hard? How else was she supposed to feel about that?

She saw something in his eyes change when she had stepped back. There was almost a hurt look, like he was hurt that she was afraid of him. Well that was his fault! He was the one who just sucked the blood out of a demons neck and then yanked one out of a human! Those actions guarantee concern!

"Of course we keep our promises. Of course you have our gratitude."

Frankie ripped her eyes from Sam, not wanting to spend another moment trying to make heads or tails over what he just did, and looked over across the room where she heard the voice of the little girl. She walked passed Dean and Amelia, stopping to watch as Jimmy's daughter kneeled before her dying father.

"You served us well. Your work is done. It's time to go home now. Your real home. You'll rest forever in the fields of the Lord." Frankie narrowed her eyes at the girl. When did she start talking like Kirk Cameron? "Rest now Jimmy."

Frankie felt her heart tug as Jimmy whimpered and shook his head. "No. Claire!"

"She's with me now." Frankie snapped her eyes over to the girl. What did that mean? Her wondering was halted by the agonized wail from the man under her. "She's chosen. It's in her blood, as it was in yours."

"Please, Castiel," Jimmy whimpered.

Finally, everything clicked. Frankie's eyes widened as she stared at Jimmy's little girl. She wasn't his little girl anymore. She was a vessel, and she wasn't just any vessel. That was Castiel!

"You need to take me!" Jimmy cried, tears welling in his eyes. "Take me, please!"

Frankie didn't look away from the scene, even as Sam, Dean, and Amelia joined by her side to watch the heartbreaking sight before her. After everything Jimmy had sacrificed, after everything he had already done for Heaven and the angels, he was willing to take all of that back so his daughter didn't take his burden.

"I want to make sure you understand. You won't die, or age. If this last year was painful for you, picture a hundred, a thousand more like it."

Jimmy grasped the arm of Castiel, no longer grasping at his daughter. "It doesn't matter," he gurgled, blood seeping between his teeth. "You take me. Just take _me_!" he shouted, shooting the thing wearing his daughter a death glare.

Castiel sighed, "As you wish," before placing Claire's hands on both sides of the man's face.

Frankie watched with baited breath as Jimmy's face lit up just as the demons' had, only this time it was so bright that she needed to shield her eyes with her hand. Once the light faded, she looked passed her hand back at the scene, her eyes landing on Jimmy.

He no longer looked like himself. Despite appearing exactly the same, his face held no more resemblance. The far off stare of the man no longer held any sign of a father's pained love towards his daughter, and as for Claire, she no longer had the very look that inhabited Jimmy's face.

The little girl was a little girl once more, panting and sobbing over what was once her father. The man stood from his slumped position, his movements mechanic and no longer looking as if they belonged to a human. As he walked forward, Amelia rushed to her daughter's side and cradled her in her arms.

Castiel had stopped to look back at Jimmy's wife and she had stared right back. Remorse for her lost husband was clear on her face, but that same remorse was not present on the angel's. Amelia buried her face in her daughter's hair and comforted her, rocking her as the little girl sniffled. Castiel turned around and walked without another word.

"Cas, hold up," Dean called, getting the angel's attention. He stopped. It seemed as if he hesitated before turning around to face him, but the angel's face did not look patient at all. "What were you gunna tell me?" Dean asked. Frankie looked from her brother to the angel in front of her, waiting for his answer just as Dean was.

"I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean," he grunted. Frankie grimaced at his voice. Where Jimmy's was so soft and filled with emotion, Castiel's was rough and gravelly. Frankie didn't like it at all. "I serve Heaven, I don't serve man. And I certainly don't serve you."

Frankie blinked at the angel. That didn't sound very friendly. That sounded the opposite. Sam and Dean said Castiel was their friend, but that guy just sounded like a douchebag. _That_ was who was supposed to help save her life?

The angel turned to walk off like he had tried to do before, but just as he turned, his eyes landed on Frankie. She stilled, the hairs on her neck bristling like a threatened cat's. He had turned around and took a few steps forward, but he suddenly stopped. She furrowed her brows, as the angel turned back around. His eyes met hers.

His eyes narrowed and squinted on her, his head turning to the side as if he was confused, or maybe as if he was scrutinizing her, or maybe as if he was looking for something. His solid stare made it hard to decipher exactly which one of those could be the truth, but it almost seemed as if it was all three at once.

Frankie turned her head slightly over to her brothers for help. They looked just as confused as she was. The girl turned her head back towards the angel. He had moved his head to the other side, his eyes squinting more. What was his deal? She decided to give him a taste of his own medicine and glared right back into his eyes.

And that's when she felt something. It wasn't anything profound, like a spark or a jolt, but there was just this feeling, like a connection forming. The connection seemed to shift in her mind. It was almost like fingers brushing through her brain, sifting through like they were searching for something, just like his eyes.

Suddenly, the feeling was gone, leaving the moment Castiel turned back around and marched out of the building, trench coat fluttering behind him. She was left in a small daze, the feeling gone, but still lingering in her mind. In the brief moments that they shared that light connection, Frankie somehow knew this wasn't the last she would see of him. Pity. He seemed like a douche.

* * *

Frankie couldn't go back to sleep on the drive back, which was just great with the awkward silence and all. Dean was quiet, Sam was silent, and Frankie sure as hell wasn't going to speak up. Not even to apologize like she said she would. Now just didn't seem like the time.

Besides the awkwardness, what was there to talk about? First off, Frankie disobeyed her brothers by going in to help. Then, she sees Sam go ape-shit crazy on a demon's neck and on another demon's entire form just by using telekinesis or something!

Frankie hesitantly looked at the back of Sam's head in the passenger seat.

And then to end it all, she finally meets the Castiel her brothers had been talking about and he seems like a snotty, uptight dick. Aside from that, what was there to talk about?

Well, there was that weird look Castiel kept giving her. What was up with that? He acted like he had never seen a human before but that was obviously not the case. Looking into his eyes, he seemed confused, but not in the ordinary sense of the word. It was like there was something inside of Frankie that he was looking at, not something on the outside. Hell, maybe he was seeing just how jacked up her body was. Maybe that should encourage him to heal it.

That brought her to another point. Castiel just walking off and refusing to help even her brothers marked off something hella important from her To-Do list. She was supposed to get the angel to heal her before starting hunting on her own since Sam and Dean refused to train her, but even that seemed unlikely.

She couldn't possibly go off on her own, she knew that. As determined as she was, she was also blind. Her brothers were right. There was so much more that they weren't telling her. Sam was a pretty big example! She was scared of him now! That could have been avoided if they sat her down and told her, _'Hey, yeah, Sam totally has powers that can, like, kill demons and shit.'_ That would have been super useful to know before storming in there without any knowledge of it. And now knowing that there was more to her brothers than she initially thought, Frankie knew that going out on her own would be next to impossible.

But that was beside the point. Sam had powers. Humans didn't have powers. Therefore, Sam wasn't human. At least that was how basic logic applied to the situation. So if Sam wasn't human… what was he? Was he even her brother? Was _Dean_ human, too? Or were they both monsters and the reason that she would never be like them was because she wasn't a monster? That sounded crazy, but it made more sense than other theories she was coming up with.

Suddenly, a phone rang from up front. She was shaken from her thoughts as Sam answered his phone. "Hey Bobby," he greeted. Frankie perked up a little at that. She genuinely wondered how Bobby was doing and it had nothing to do with the fact that she wanted her thoughts to move away from her brothers possibly being monsters.

"Hey, you and yer brother better shag-ass to my place ASAP," the surly man's voice spoke.

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

"The apocalypse, genius. Now get yer asses over here."

Frankie's brows furrowed. The apocalypse? She was sure that was meant as a joke, like he was exaggerating the issue, but at this point she was prepared to accept that the apocalypse was really happening. She didn't see any Earth crushing disasters happening yet, but demons and angels walking among humans and the fact that her brothers might be monsters? Yeah, that seemed pretty apocalyptic to her.

* * *

They pulled up to the now familiar sight of Bobby's house. Frankie was looking forward to lying back down on the couch with the dreamy pillow for an attempt at a good night's rest. She grabbed her bag and got out of the car with Sam and Dean.

As she closed the door to the car, she looked over to Dean. He had a stern look on his face, but for once it wasn't directed at her. She wondered what exactly about the night was bugging him the most, but she wouldn't dare ask about it. Instead, the damn caring nature in her led her to mutter out words she maybe shouldn't after disobeying him like she did.

"You okay?"

Dean shifted his eyes to look down at her. Frankie was left staring up at the man for a few moments wondering if he was actually going to respond to her before he tightened his lips and looked away from her.

"Y'know, I should be the one asking you that," he mumbled under his breath. Frankie sent him a small half smile and a shrug. "Listen," he added. He surprised Frankie with how calmly he spoke, even if he sounded incredibly tired. "Why don't you go on inside and get some rest. It's been a long day."

Frankie agreed with him there. She was really tired, physically and mentally. She nodded while going to follow after Sam who was already on his way to the porch, but Dean reached out for her arm and stopped her. She went to turn and look at him, but he had already lowered his head and his voice in a whisper.

"And whatever you do, do _not_ go downstairs. Not for anything you hear, you understand?"

The hairs on Frankie's neck bristled for the second time that night, but for a different reason. The serious sound of Dean's voice concerned her. What the hell was happening in the basement that she shouldn't see?

"Do you understand?" he repeated, harsher this time as he squeezed her arm. Frankie didn't waste a moment longer before frantically nodding her head, hoping that the faster she nodded the faster he'd let her go.

Her theory was correct and he released her. She didn't even bother looking back at him before hurrying on into the house. Bobby was there to greet her and Sam in the foyer. He sent a smile Frankie's way, but it looked incredibly forced and, quite frankly, condescending.

"Frankie," he greeted, his voice not helping his smile at all. "You enjoy yer little field trip?"

With only the sound of his voice to go on, Frankie assumed he was talking about her solo excursion with Jimmy. How did he know about that anyway? He and her brothers must keep close in touch.

She forced some sort of smile onto her face to make light of it, but whatever reached her face was awkward and unjustifiable. Instead of lingering there under his disapproving stare, she walked into the study and settled onto the couch like Dean had told her to do.

As soon as he entered the house, Bobby motioned for them to follow him somewhere. Frankie assumed it was the basement. The sharp glance that Dean sent her before he disappeared strengthened that.

What the hell was she not supposed to see? Frankie felt almost as unsettled as she did the day she was brought to Bobby's house. The Devil's Trap above her no longer fazed her. Her brothers were the only ones who did that now.

What was she going to do about them? It seemed so simple before. She would just somehow muster the strength to impress them and then they would let her into their clan. But now Sam had powers he never mentioned and Dean was starting to act more reasonable and Sam was starting to act coarser and her mom's machete had the ability to kill things that shouldn't be killed and things were so topsy-turvy that Frankie wasn't sure how her head was staying on her shoulders.

She just had to stay strong and think smart while she had the time, which seemed in short supply with the way her injuries held up. Her wrist was pretty much healed aside from bruises, her eye was just a bit black, and she had no idea how her ear looked. It seemed way overdo for a checkup, but she'd worry about that after she figured everything else out. If she could even figure everything else out…

"Guys! This isn't funny!"

She froze as the sound of Sam's distressed voice yelled from below.

"Guys! Hey! _Guys_!"

She sat up from the couch, her good ear listening in on the distraught calls from the basement. Sam was in trouble, and it sounded almost like Dean and Bobby were the cause. The sounds of something hitting metal walls echoed below, and it was followed by the sounds of two pairs of feet climbing the stairs.

Nothing about this felt right. Call it a paranoid intuition, but she could feel it in her gut. Something was terribly wrong.

" _GUYS_!"


	12. Chapter 11 - Endless

**A/N: Hey, look at that! Another late chapter! Yeah, I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but it seems as though school is getting the better of me. Excuses, right? So because of my frequent late postings, I am going to change the scheduling from every Friday to every weekend: Friday-Sunday. I will still keep updating on a weekly basis, only the days may be different depending on how satisfied I am with a chapter. Thanks for understanding and as always, THANK YOU FOR THE FAVORITES, FOLLOWS, AND REVIEWS! I read each of them multiple times a week. They make me happy. So anyway, enough of the paragraph of tiresome A/N. On with the story!**

* * *

That night was one of the longest nights of her life. Dean and Bobby refused to give her the slightest clue as to what was happening to Sam downstairs, so she had no idea what he was yelling about. And he was yelling a lot. He was not letting up on calling out to his brother and friend. Frankie even heard her name being shouted a few times, but she stayed put.

She couldn't sleep on the couch with the endless yelling going on just beneath her. She kept tossing and turning, rolling this way and that and clutching the pillow over her good ear to try and block out the hollering from below. Nothing worked.

Tears welled in her clenched eyes. It was painful to listen to Sam this way. She had no idea what was happening to him down there, and she didn't completely know if she wanted to find out. After a while, his calls for someone to let him out turned into shouts of pain. Dean and Bobby had been upstairs since Sam went down there, so there was supposedly no one doing anything to him. That fact made the situation even worse.

She shouldn't be feeling sympathy for the pain he was going through. He could be a monster for all she knew! Maybe that was why they put him down there. Maybe Dean and Bobby didn't know that he had those powers before he showed them off at the warehouse. That possibility didn't seem quite right, but them already knowing that this was going on made things even worse.

But she did feel sympathy for him. Monster or not, he was still her brother, in one form or another at least. He was a brother who kept secrets, who lied, who was confusing her in more ways than one, but she still wanted to reach out to him, to help him through whatever was causing him harm. Yet she didn't know how she could do such a thing. All of this that was happening seemed so out of her power and experience.

It seemed a lot simpler when she was anticipating vampires and ghouls, but now there was drinking a demon's blood and having secret powers? This was probably what Dean was referring to when he said that she didn't know what she was getting into.

A hand grabbed her arm. She jumped and gasped as she clutched her pillow and rolled over, readying it as a weapon of sorts. Dean stared down at her choice of weapon with a raised brow. She sighed as she lowered the pillow. She must not have heard him approach her with it on her ear.

"Hey, uh… it's pretty loud down here," he started, looking unnerved like her. He wasn't taking this yelling from their brother any easier than her. In fact, he was taking it worse. "Go up to the guest room and try to get some shuteye. I'll stay down here."

Frankie looked up at Dean. He looked miserable. She could see that even behind the hard mask he put on over it. He didn't want to put Sam through whatever was going on down there, and it hurt him to do it.

Frankie slowly got up from the couch, stretching a little as she walked passed Dean. She got a few steps towards the foyer until she stopped and turned back to her brother. He sat down on the couch and rubbed his hands over his face.

Frankie hated to see him like this. Dean was difficult to be around, that was apparent if the past few days were anything to go on. He was coarse, rough, stubborn, and he wanted nothing to do with her, but Frankie still didn't want him to feel sadness over his brother's pain. She was too forgiving sometimes.

"What?" he grunted. Frankie snapped her eyes up, now noticing that Dean was staring at her. She shook her head as she collected herself, moving to turn and go upstairs, but she didn't. She needed to ask the pressing question or else she'd be up all night.

"Dean… what-…," she sighed and turned all the way to face him. "Why is Sam downstairs? What's happening to him?" As expected, the man looked away and sighed. "Please tell me, Dean," Frankie pleaded in an almost whisper. "I… I'm worried about him."

"Go to bed, Frankie," Dean muttered, spite not present in his voice like it normally would be.

"You think I can with all of that going on down there?" she followed up. He didn't move to answer her. She stepped forward, her arms loosely crossing over her chest. "I know you don't want me involved, but… but just… tell me what Sam is. Please."

"What Sam ' _is_ '?" he asked, his brows furrowing. "What do you mean?"

Frankie squirmed under his pressing gaze, but she otherwise held her ground. "I'm not gunna pretend like I didn't see him Professor X that demon back there. That's not normal, Dean."

"So what? What are you saying?"

"Well, I… is he… Dean, is he a-"

"Monster?" he answered. His voice was low and rough, just like it should be. "You're asking if he's a monster?" Frankie saw in his eyes that he was insulted by her accusation. She nodded nonetheless.

Dean was fully prepared to reprimand her for thinking such a thing about his brother, but he could see what was going on in her mind. He could see that she was scared, for him and of him. Dammit. He had specifically told her not to go into that warehouse, and what did she do? Exactly that. And because of that she saw something she was never supposed to see. Hell, he was never supposed to see that, but they both did, and now he was left to explain to her what was going on with Sam.

He really shouldn't. She was in no place to know about Sam and his little problem, but if he learned anything from Frankie it was that she didn't listen. Not to reason, not to what he and Sam told her, not to anything. She was a stubborn little girl, that was for sure. If he or Bobby didn't explain what was going on, she was sure to march right down to the basement and ask Sam himself what the hell was going on. That was something to be avoided.

He shook his head. She really dug her grave now. There was no way to work around this. She was going to find out somehow. Why couldn't she have just gone back to Alabama like she was supposed to?

"No," he finally answered in a huff. "He's not. He's a human, like you and me."

"Then what was that thing he did to the-"

"Frankie," he sighed, bringing his hands up to his face and rubbing it. "It's really difficult to explain. You wouldn't understand."

The girl was silent for a few seconds before stepping closer to him. "I-I could try. I could try to understand."

Dean looked up from his hands and stared right into Frankie's eyes. The only sound that filled the room was the yelling from under their feet. Dean opened his mouth to say something – even he was unsure of exactly what is was that he would say – before he breathed out a sigh and raked his fingers through his hair.

"You should really get some rest." He'd tell her tomorrow, after she got some sleep and decided whether or not she actually wanted to know about Sam.

He tore his eyes from the girl and looked down to the pillow beside him. He picked it up and placed it down against the arm of the couch. He reached down to grab the blanket at his feet and pulled it up to the cushion next to him.

"I'm sorry about leaving the car."

His fingers on the blanket froze. His brows narrowed, wondering if he heard her right. He turned his head over to the girl, her eyes set to the carpet at her feet.

"What?" he asked. He was pretty sure of what he heard, but he wanted to make sure he took mental note of it. Her eyes rose to meet his, guilt pooling in them.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, louder this time, her eyes no less guilty. "For leaving the car when you told me not to. I wasn't going to, honest. But I heard a gunshot and got worried and…," she took a moment to sigh, "You've heard it from me a million times already, but I had to help." She looked down and gave a light, helpless smile. "I guess running straight into trouble is sorta my thing."

Dean thought about the last thing she said. He thought about how he and Sam made a living out of running straight into trouble, too. How they learned that from their dad and how they'd get in trouble for getting into more trouble. Things seemed so simple back then. The memories brought a small smile to his face.

"Sounds more like a Winchester thing."

The two of them both froze at that. Dean realized right off the bat how that sounded, how him saying that looked. Frankie realized it as quickly as he did. She snapped her eyes up to his, silently asking if he meant that like it sounded. He averted his eyes and tried to change the subject.

"Yeah," he gruffly muttered with a clear of his throat, "well, I'd say try not to get into more trouble, but I guess you'd just do the opposite." Frankie deflated at that. "Anyway… I guess I should thank you." Then she perked up again. "That demon was whaling on me and you put a stop to it. That…," he sighed, "that took guts."

Frankie looked to her brother in astonishment. He was thanking her for doing what he told her not to do. He even went as far to call her brave for it. And this was coming from Dean? She almost wondered if she was really talking to her brother or not. Perhaps he could be possessed, too.

"It was stupid and should never be repeated, but thanks. You were… helpful, to a degree. And… sorry for pushing you in the car. If it hurt, I didn't mean it."

"It didn't," the girl lied.

The room delved back into silence, but it was never truly silent. Sam's call for Dean, Bobby, and herself carried on and dampened the brother and sister's moods. It was a shame. They seemed to be making some pretty good progress. It wasn't perfect, but at least they were getting things off of their chests.

Frankie listened to the yells of Sam. Dean said he wasn't a monster, so what did that make him? A human who drank demon blood? That didn't seem any better. It was scary. Was it changing him? Was the blood giving him the powers? That would – oddly enough – explain things a little better.

And since he was drinking demon blood, did that make him even bigger an enemy to the demons? Would they come after him, or would they rather be afraid to come near him like a human would be to a vampire? So many questions.

Thinking over demons, it brought another pressing matter to her attention. That one demon got away. Or, at least she thought it did since Sam cast it out of Amelia. It saw her face, it heard her name. Did that mean demons would come after her? She hoped to God they wouldn't, but Sam agreed that she was probably on a list somewhere down there and that didn't make her feel better.

She lifted her eyes to her brother sitting on the couch. "Dean," she spoke up, her voice small. He hummed, not raising his eyes to her. "Do… do you think that, um…," she paused to collect herself, shifting her weight from leg to leg, "that demons will come after me now?"

She watched his brows furrow as he finally lifted his eyes to her. She watched his face closely, taking note of the flurry of emotions that passed under his mask. She waited as patiently as she could for his answer, but she couldn't stop the impatient fiddling of her fingers.

Finally, he gave a long sigh through his nostrils. The corners of his mouth pulled into a deeper frown as he looked into Frankie's eyes. "Probably."

Frankie felt her heart drop into her stomach. An involuntary sigh broke free from her lips as her shoulders dropped in a sign of fear and worry. "Way to lay it on lightly," she sarcastically muttered.

"What do you want me to say? That everything'll be alright? That you'll be safe?" he asked, rising from the couch. "They saw you with me and Sam. You're tagged as an accomplice of us. That's not good in the eyes of a demon." Frankie hesitantly looked him in the eye. "We aren't at the top of their list, but we're pretty damn close to it. Which means you will be, too."

"Dammit," Frankie breathed quietly, shifting her weight to her other leg and clutching her arms tighter.

"Hey. You asked for this, remember? You wanted the full hunter experience? This is it."

Frankie looked down. She did ask for this. No one would be blamed but herself, and she was fine with that. She didn't want to die a horrible, gruesome death at the hands of a demon, but she'd be prepared to take it because she asked for it.

"Now if you can," Dean added, bring her attention back to him, "try and get some sleep. You'll need it if you wanna get through the next few days."

The girl shook her head. "There's no way I'm getting any sleep tonight. There's no use trying for it."

Frankie rubbed her forehead. She could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. She walked passed Dean and settled herself down on the couch, her elbows resting on her knees as she looked helplessly to the floor. After a few moments, Dean joined her on the couch.

"Boring life in Alabama's not lookin' too bad now, huh?" he nonchalantly muttered. Frankie tried for a small puff of laughter, but it died in her chest.

"Nah. I'd rather die out here by a demon than live another ten years in Bama."

"What is it with you and Bama?" Dean scoffed. He turned his head over to the girl, curiosity coating his face among the worry for his brother. Frankie turned her head over to look him in the eye. She couldn't really tell if he genuinely wanted to know or if he was just using it as a distraction from the yelling downstairs. "What happened to you down there?"

The girl held her gaze, wondering if she should bother even giving her life there a single thought before she decided to stop avoiding it. She looked back ahead, staring at nothing in particular. "Too many bad memories, too many horrible people, too many dead relatives," she said simply.

Dean didn't say anything in response, and he didn't need to. However, Frankie almost wished he had said something. The air grew way too dismal after that. She decided to soften the blow a bit. Plus, it felt good to let a few things be said aloud. "And… I promised my mom that I'd live someplace that made me happy. She knew that I was never happy there."

She saw Dean's head look over to her in the corner of her eye. "Let me guess. You haven't found that place yet?"

Frankie managed to get the light laugh out of her chest this time. "I…," she started. The rest of the words failed to come out, however, when she really thought about things. Instead of a sarcastic quip, her brain traveled to a more hopeful mindset. "I dunno. Maybe I have." Dean's brows narrowed, confused as to what she meant. She sent him a half-assed smile. "Don't think you guys would be too happy to have me living nearby, though."

She could see Dean's attitude shift from nonchalant to firm. She knew exactly what he was going to say, so she made the effort to speak before he did. "Look, Dean. I think we both know that I can't go anywhere without the threat of demons coming to scout me out. If you're right and demons will find out who I am, then don't you think it's best that I live near people who can help me out if they come for me?" Frankie then raised an eyebrow as her face fell to a matter-of-factly expression. "Or y'all can just train me to prepare for that instead."

"Frankie," Dean warned, but he didn't follow through with his reprimand. Frankie chose to believe that it was a sign indicating that she had no choice but to be brought into the hunting world. He sighed when he found words to say. "You do understand that we were trying to save you from all this right?" he asked, gesturing to the room adorned with devil traps and books on hunting. "Listen to Sam, Frankie," he continued, his voice growing harder. "Listen to that. Believe it or not, this is as close to an average day in our lives that you can get, and yet this is a first! Is this the life you really want?"

"Look, I understand your worry, I really do. I'm not saying that I wanna just run right into danger without a second thought. Even if that is what I've been doing in the last few days… But this life you and Sam have… hunting, saving people, getting chased by demons… it's dangerous, yeah, but it's what you do. And all of that is what _I_ need to be doing, too." Her face matched his own, her expression stern. "You gotta remember that I'm not just a Pearce. I'm a Winchester, too."

Dean looked at Frankie for a long while. His expression never changed or wavered. Frankie's expression, however, urged him to respond, to counter what she was explaining, but he didn't move until he finally sucked in a long breath and turned his head forward, exhaling in an even longer sigh.

"You shouldn't be here," he quietly grunted. "You should be home, in school even. Living the life of a twenty-one year old. Getting a degree, hanging out with friends, getting a boyfriend, _living_. Not here. Not having to deal with demons or any of this crap."

Frankie's hard expression fell, her eyes filling with understanding. She looked forward, too, linking her fingers together in between her knees. "Dean. You and I both know that I never would have had that life. At least here I can make something of myself."

"A hunter?" he scoffed, whipping his head over. He finally held an expression other than stern, although Frankie didn't like the huffy one any better. She looked back over to him.

"A sister." He tried to hide it, but Dean was at a loss for words at that. "Dean, I know you're worried for me… but you gotta understand that I can make decisions for myself. I wanna be… I would like to be a part of yours and Sam's life… e-even if that includes knowing that one of my half-brothers has secret demon-banishing powers that scare me to high hell. And… and I have no idea what's going on downstairs, but… but I trust that it's for a good reason. I have no reason to trust y'all after y'all lied to me, but that's just how much of a wuss I am.

"I get that I am…," she paused to sigh and look to the floor, "a distraction. I know I came at a bad time. That's apparent based on the screaming going on under my feet. But I also think that maybe the time was right." She pressed her lips together as she remembered her eavesdropping from the Impala. "You guys mentioned something about a mission that you need more people for. Well, here I am. Just…," Frankie slowly lifted her eyes up to Dean's to find him looking at her with an almost vulnerable expression, "… if you come across anything I can help with, let me know."

In an almost unnoticeable moment, the vulnerable look shifted back into the cold glance he usually wore. Frankie noticed this despite the vagueness of it. "There is something you can help me with," he said in an even voice. Frankie perked up, her shoulders lifting from their slumped positions.

"Yeah? What is it?"

"You can tell me exactly how that one demon died at Jimmy's house."

And then Frankie froze. She swore her heart stopped for a full three seconds once his request reached her mind.

She wasn't ready to tell him. Despite the progress they were making, she didn't trust him to not take away her mom's machete. If she told him that it killed demons the same way that their knife did, they might take it for themselves. She couldn't have that. And she especially couldn't have him take it away before she figured out why her mom had it in the first place! What need would she have for it?

"U-Uh…," she uttered. "I-I-I… dunno."

"You don't know?"

"Yeah, I don't know."

"Do you expect me to believe that it was dead before you barged in?"

Frankie averted her eyes. "May-… be?" A quick glance back to Dean indicated that he wasn't backing down from his question. "It's not that hard to believe, right?" she chuckled out, trying her damnedest to remain calm, but failing miserably.

"Frankie," Dean warned. The girl leaned away from the inquiring man next to her. "I know you killed it."

"I didn't!"

"Yeah, I think you did."

"Well you're wrong! I didn't kill it! That's giving me way too much credit."

"Don't think so," the man said with a light shake of his head.

"Oh, and I suppose you clearly know the truth. How the hell can you know for sure?"

"Because I know when you're lying."

Frankie cut her eyes to Dean, her expression disbelieving. "You most certainly do not."

"Really?"

"You haven't known me long enough to know!"

"Sure I have. Your voice gets higher and louder and the more you argue the more your accent comes out."

"Bullshit! I don't have an-!"

"What are you two bickerin' about now?" called the voice of Bobby from the staircase. Dean and Frankie's heads snapped over to the foyer where Bobby was walking into the study. "Don't y'all think this is the least best time to be arguin'?"

"Sorry, Bobby," Frankie sighed, half glad that he came in as a distraction.

The man walked into the room with a bottle of what looked like whisky. He settled himself down in the chair set up at the desk as he pulled out some glasses. Frankie felt like she really needed a drink, but as soon as he poured in the first glass, the occasional shouts of pain turned into endless agonizing wails and ceaseless begs for mercy. Whatever pain he was previously feeling had been dialed up way passed its limit.

Frankie was overcome with fear and intense worry for her brother, for her nice, harmless brother Sam. She couldn't take his screaming anymore. She couldn't stop imagining what horrors he was going through. "'M sorry," she whispered, standing up from the couch and excusing herself to the porch outside. It did little good, but sitting outside in the bitter cold under the black sky helped enough.

* * *

It could have been twenty minutes, or it could have been hours. Frankie didn't know, but she had been outside long enough for the sun to rise from below the trees. Even though it started many hours ago, to Frankie the sunrise felt like a new day, and the new day greeted her with screams of agony from her brother.

She was emotionally exhausted. She had gone through more in the past five days than she had in the past five years. She looked highly on the thought to lie down and never get up, but she had a duty, and that duty was to stay strong in this trying time. She had a lot to prove to a lot of people and she wasn't going to show any more weakness than she already displayed.

But it was not easy with Sam's situation. Dean and Bobby genuinely expected her to just go along with them locking Sam in the basement and not giving her any hint as to what was happening. How the hell was she not supposed to concern herself with what all of his screaming was about?

She had made the decision to get to the bottom of the situation. Somehow she was going to find out what was up with her brother, even if that meant disobeying Dean once again. Sam was her brother, too. She deserved to be in the know. But how was she going to go about it? Ask Bobby? He'd never do that. He was adamant of keeping her in the dark. Dean would never budge. She could snoop around, but the only place she could go to find out anything was downstairs.

She knew she shouldn't. Who knew what she'd find when she was down there? Well, Dean and Bobby, but that was beside the point. And then at the same time, what if what she found downstairs forever changed how she viewed Sam? Her view was already warped. Did she really want to risk looking at him in a worse light? Maybe Dean was trying to protect her from that.

But then again, maybe Dean was covering for Sam. Maybe Sam actually was a monster but Dean lied to her yet again. She had no way to know for sure, but one thing was for certain and that was that she needed to get Sam's side of the story before making any concrete assumptions.

She stood up from the porch and went inside the house. She walked slowly at first, looking into the study and finding it empty. Then she peeked into the kitchen. Nothing. She tried the downstairs bathroom. Nada. It seemed like the coast was clear.

While that was convenient, she wondered where Dean and Bobby were. She had heard them talking to one another from outside. She couldn't hear a word they said, but she had heard them discussing something. It seemed heated. But now they were nowhere in sight. Perhaps they couldn't take the screaming either.

Suddenly, a creaking was heard upstairs followed by the light, almost indistinct sound of mumbling. They must have moved their discussion upstairs. She took the next few minutes to ensure that they were both up there. She could hear the same tones that they had been using in the study. If she listened carefully, she could make out the words "Sam" and "monster." She did not like the pairing of those words.

Frankie continued on. She walked down the hallway attached to the foyer and approached the staircase that led down to the basement. She placed a hand on the railing, but didn't take another step forward. Anxiety took over her body. She was wary at what she would find down there. She knew it would benefit her more if she stayed in the study, but she wasn't going to be kept in the dark anymore. She had to find out what was going on with Sam.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As she exhaled, she traveled deeper into the basement. Sam's screams had come in aggressive spurts. For a long while he would scream at the top of his lungs, but then he'd stop and just groan for a few minutes before yelling again. His state as she entered the basement was that small space of panting.

Frankie reached the bottom of the stairs and rounded them. She stared ahead. It was dark down there, but she could clearly make out the image of a large metallic chamber across from her. Her heart pounded in her chest. It looked straight out of a horror movie, and that was where her brother's grunts were coming from. Bobby and Dean locked him in a damn furnace-looking cage!

She approached the large, iron chamber, feelings of dread weighing on her stomach as she listened to the strained breathing coming from within the metallic walls. "Sa-," she started, her voice cracking as soon as she spoke. "Sam?" she tried again.

"Frankie?" the imprisoned man rasped. "Frankie is that you?"

The girl took another step forward, but didn't go any further than that. "It's me…"

"Frankie, you gotta let me outta here," Sam eagerly blurted. She could tell by the way his voice carried that he was pressing himself against the door. "You have to open the door."

Frankie cringed at the sound of his voice. He sounded weak, vulnerable, and his voice was raspy from all of his screaming. She was surprised that his voice wasn't gone by now. The girl took a deep breath to settle herself and focus on why she was down there.

"Why'd they put you in there?" she asked.

Sam seemed to hesitate before his voice came again. "I don't know."

A sigh involuntarily left Frankie. "Bullshit."

"Dammit, Frankie!" he shouted with a slam to the metal wall of the chamber. Frankie jumped at both the loud bang and his hard voice. It was followed by even more strained breathing. "They… they think that I'll screw something up."

"Why do they think tha-?"

"They just do!" Sam hissed. Immediately after, though, he huffed and seemed to calm his manic temper. That alone unnerved Frankie. He didn't seem like one to have a bad temper. That was more of a Dean thing. She really didn't know Sam at all, did she? "I'm sorry, just… please open the door. I promise I won't hurt you."

"I… didn't think you'd hurt me…"

"Frankie, _please_. _Please_ let me outta here. You know me. You know I wouldn't cause you any harm. If you let me outta here, I'll give you whatever you want. I swear."

Frankie glared at the strange chamber. That barely sounded like the Sam she knew. She stepped closer to the door of the chamber and reached up to the small window hatch. She opened it, meeting eyes with the man inside. He looked absolutely awful, and on top of looking miserable, he looked insanely dangerous. His hazel eyes held no more resemblance to the Sam she knew. She was tempted to step away from the chamber and go back upstairs, but she was on a mission and she had to see it through.

"I want you to tell me what's going on," she said, seriousness present in her voice. "I want you to tell me why you're really in there. I've known Dean and Bobby long enough to know you wouldn't be put in here if not for a reason." Sam huffed and pushed away from the door. He paced around in the room as he raked his hands through his hair and clutched it. "Is…," Frankie continued. She hated watching Sam like this. "Does it have anything to do with your powers?"

The man stopped. His head snapped back over to the girl, his eyes intense as they pierced her own. He didn't speak. And he didn't need to. Frankie could tell by the look he was sending her that it was indeed the reason. "Frankie," he finally grumbled as he marched back to the door and placed his hands against the walls, "listen to me. I need to get outta here. I'll… I'll die if I stay in here."

Frankie shut her eyes. She shook her head. "Sam… I-I can't."

"Yes you can. Listen to me. Listen to your brother."

"Don't you do that to me," Frankie growled, her eyes opening to a hard scowl the likes of which held up to her brothers' own glares. "Don't you use that card with me, Sam."

"Frankie-"

"Tell me, Sam. Tell me the real reason. If you don't I'll march right back up there and ignore you like I have since they shoved you in there. I mean it." She obviously didn't mean it, but she wouldn't let him know that. "This is your one chance to share your side of the story."

Fear swirled in her chest when she was met with the glower he pointed at her. She swallowed, but tried to hide it so she didn't look as vulnerable as she really was. "You want the reason? Fine," the man spat. Frankie took a half step back at the venomous sound of his voice. He only pressed himself closer to the door. "I have powers that can kill demons. But they don't just come naturally. I have to drink demon blood for them to be strong enough to kill."

Even though Frankie knew he drank the blood of a demon, it still shocked her to hear him say it as if it were perfectly normal. "And the mission we've been talking about?" he continued. "There's a really powerful demon trying to destroy the world, and I can kill her, and yet Dean wants to keep me locked in here until the blood runs out of my system and I lose all of my ability to kill her. Do you see now? You have to let me out so I can kill that demon."

Frankie's eyes slowly traveled from his eyes to the floor. That was the most ludicrous sounding excuse she had ever heard, but the demon blood parts made enough sense. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Dammit," he breathed out, giving the wall a light slap. "You don't have to believe me! If you don't, fine, but how about this. If you let me out of here so I can kill that demon, I'll give you whatever you want. Anything you wish" Frankie wasn't stupid. There was nothing he could give her that would allow her to let him out in that state.

"Frankie," Sam spoke, his voice a lot softer than it was moments ago. Confused, Frankie raised her eyes up to the window to find that his eyes lost their intensity. They looked more familiar. "I know it's hard for you to believe me when I'm locked up… and it's even harder for you to believe me after I lied to you about going on a case… but let me tell you this. If you let me out of here, I promise that I'll go to the hospital and test for compatibility."

Frankie stood ramrod still. Did she hear him correctly? Did he just give a promise to try and give her his kidney?

"That's the reason you came up here in the first place, right? You let me out, I'll give you what you came for. I give you my word."

A bright red flag was frantically waving in Frankie's skull. It urged her to ignore him, pleaded for her to stop listening. Even though Sam masterfully managed to make his voice soft and reasoning like it was when she first met him, she knew his words were that of an expert manipulator. He did it yesterday and he was doing it now. As much as she wanted to believe that it was true, she couldn't trust him.

"Sam… I… I can't trust you. Not in this state."

"Please, Frankie!" the man pleaded. The crack in his voice clenched Frankie's heart. What was happening to this poor man? This wasn't her brother. This wasn't even Dean's brother anymore. "You're the only one that can help me! Please!"

She took a step away. "I can't, Sam. I'm sorry, but I can't."

"No! Let me outta here! Please!"

Frankie felt remorse fill her chest in place of fear. She would listen to his screams of pain for hours on end if it meant she never had to hear the near sob he was throwing at her.

"No, Sam," she choked out. She reached up and placed a hand on the window latch. Sam's pleads stopped when he saw her reach for the hatch. In a startling instant that caught Frankie off guard, his attitude switched back to dangerously angry.

"Don't you do it. Don't you dare. Don't leave me down here, Frankie, I swear to God you'll regret it."

Her eyes filled with tears. Sam would never threaten her. She couldn't bear to listen to this.

"Frankie!"

This time, both Sam and Frankie froze at the voice coming from the stairs. Frankie's eyes opened as wide as they could at the sound of Dean's enraged voice. She whipped her head around to see the man storming up to her. If looks could kill, Frankie would have been blown to bits all over the walls.

"D-Dean! I-"

She didn't get another word out before the man reached out and clutched the back collar of her shirt. He yanked her away from the chamber as Sam yelled himself hoarse at his brother, pitiable pleads long gone.

"Dean! Let me out! Let. Me. Out! _Dean_!"

Dean dragged Frankie's squirming form up the stairs. She struggled to stay close to his body so that her collar wouldn't choke her, but it didn't help much.

"I tell you to do one thing and it goes right out the other ear," he gruffly mumbled. He let go of her collar and gave her a small push into the study. "Why can't you listen to one damn thing I tell you?! I told you _not_ to go down there and you do it anyway!" he shouted. Frankie pulled on the front of her collar as she warily turned back to face him. "What the hell did you think you were doing?!"

"Dean," she started. She scoffed, looking off to the side as she rubbed her throat. "You put me in a house where one of my brothers is screaming in agony. And then my other brother refuses to give me any peace of mind over it! I needed to find out something!"

"So disobeying me was your first mode of action?!"

Frankie glared up at the man and scoffed in his face. "Disobey this, disobey that. You're not my dad!"

The look on Dean's face momentarily wavered. He looked down at her as if it were the last thing he thought she'd say. He shook it off as quickly as he could and replaced it with a deathly glare while stepping closer and raising a finger to point at her.

"No. But I'm the closest thing you've got to him." Frankie heard the slight pain behind his words. Her glare wavered as well at that. "The point is that you were about to let Sam out. Do you know what you almost did by doing that?"

"I-I didn't almost let him out. That was the last thing I was gunna do!" Dean wore a face that was obviously disbelieving. "I was talking to him through the window," she sighed out, trying to get her point through to the man.

"And that was mistake number two! You shouldn't have said a word to him!"

"Well it's a good thing I did!" Frankie spat. Her temperamental attitude softened, however, when she thought back to her confrontation with Sam. Even if it was fake, his pained expression was still fresh on her mind. "Something's really wrong with Sam."

"Yeah, you think?"

"Dean… Sam said some things to me. He said some really questionable things." Dean looked to her with curiosity, but there was also an almost knowing look to him as well. "He mentioned things like demon blood and powers that can kill demons and… and the end of the world?"

Dean's face froze, falling in the slightest degree. Frankie noticed the detail despite its faintness. Curious, she raised an eyebrow to him. He locked eyes with the girl again and wiped the look off of his face, attempting to hide it with a light clear of his throat.

"What did you expect? Of course he'd say stuff like that. He's fifty shades of screwed up."

Frankie looked into his eyes, the quick look he just had still on her mind. She hadn't believed what Sam said about the end of the world. She thought it was a failed attempt at getting her to let him out, but the look Dean just had when she mentioned it made her think differently. He reacted like she had said his darkest secret or something.

She narrowed her brows and stood straighter, looking him deep in the eyes. "Dean… _is_ there a demon trying to destroy the world?"

Just like she hoped he wouldn't do, Dean hesitated. "No."

Sadness filled her eyes. "Don't lie to me."

"Oh, now you're telling _me_ what to do?"

"Dean," Frankie warned, although it came out as more of a beg. "Dean, please. I'm… scared. I'm scared of Sam and I'm scared that there's a demon trying to take over the world and I'm scared that you're keeping me too much in the dark! Now I want answers, Dean Winchester, and I'll break as many rules as it takes until I find the answers I need. You know I will."

She tried to put up a firm front to the man, but she couldn't deny the fact that her face held fear. She wasn't going to try and hide that. Sam was slowly deteriorating in the basement and his raving rambling might turn out to be true. How could she not be afraid at that very moment?

Dean looked down to the girl with his own sense of dread. He knew he couldn't keep her in the dark any longer. Just like she said, she'd find some way to get her answers and, knowing her as much as he did in such a short time, she'd end up in serious danger because of it. There was no more hiding it. She would be wrapped up into their lives for sure.

"The answer's yes," drawled a voice from behind Dean. He turned as Frankie looked around him to find Bobby walking towards them from the stairs. The two siblings wondered just how much he had heard. "There is a demon. Her name's Lilith. She's trying to release Lucifer from Hell," he explained, stopping to stand beside Dean as he looked down to Frankie.

The girl froze at the mention of the Devil himself. "Lucifer? As in _the_ Lucifer?"

"Once she breaks the sixty-six seals on his cage, he'll be set free on the Earth." Frankie's jaw slowly went slack. _Those_ were the seals they meant in the Impala? Bobby shared a glance with Dean before looking back down to the girl. "And throw us into the apocalypse."

Frankie's eyes widened. The first response she had to hearing that one specific word was to let out a puff of laughter. Denial coated her features as she looked between Dean and Bobby. But once the serious look on their faces settled in, she knew it wasn't some convoluted joke.

"You're serious?" she asked.

Bobby spread his arms out at his side. "Do we look like we're joshin' you?"

Frankie wanted to believe they wouldn't, but previous events worked against their favor. She hesitated before shrugging. "I can't really tell."

"You're so eager to believe that you can be a hunter," Dean said with a half shrug. "Why is it so hard to believe that the end is near?"

The weight of everything settled hard on Frankie's shoulders. From the first day she met them she had known they were on a big mission. This whole time their mission was to stop the end of the world. "The apocalypse," she breathed out. She crossed her arms over her chest as she looked aghast to the floor. This whole time, Lucifer was close to being set free from Hell and she never knew about it. This whole time, her brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester, were trying to save the world.

"Bama's starting to look pretty good now, huh?" her oldest brother remarked.

Everyone Frankie ever met would be in danger. Many, if not all, would die. Thousands, millions, maybe even billions would be killed by the Devil or demons if they failed at their mission.

So… they wouldn't fail.

With a lengthy sigh, Frankie looked up to the two men in front of her. "What can we do to stop it?"

Dean raised an eyebrow to the girl. "Well _I_ am gunna kill the bitch, Sam is gunna detox from demon blood, and you are gunna stay here with Bobby and make sure that he doesn't escape."

"Just you?" Frankie asked, worry coating her voice. "But… but won't you need help?"

There was a momentary pause in the man before he cut his eyes to her. The meaning behind that look was a mystery to her before he opened his mouth. "Unless you know a way to kill demons…" Frankie slightly inhaled when she realized his insinuation. She was very tempted to admit the secret of her machete then and there. After all, it was the freaking end of the world! But something in her just told her to wait. "I'll be fine."

Frankie took a moment to breathe and take in the news she just received. She shook her head as she bit her nails. "The end of the world," she humorlessly half-chuckled. She absentmindedly turned and sat down on the couch. Her hands linked in front of her and she pressed them against her mouth. "Never thought I'd see the day."

As she brooded in anxiety, Dean walked up to her and crouched down to eye level. Ever so slowly, she focused her eyes into his own. He gave her an almost smug look, a look that said many things but focused on one in particular.

"Welcome to our world, Franks."


	13. Chapter 12 - Insanity

"The apocalypse."

"Hey, how many times are you gunna say that?"

Dean looked with bewilderment and crossed arms at the frazzled Frankie lying on the couch, her hands linked across her stomach as if she were at a psychologist's office. He sent a glance over to Bobby sitting at the desk. "How many times is that now?" he asked.

"Fourteen," the gruff man answered.

"Can't help it…," the girl mumbled. She stared up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. "It's just… the apocalypse."

"Fifteen."

"I mean," she continued, "can you blame me? Last week the biggest worry in my life was how I was gunna track down John, but now… now it's the goddamn end of days! Needless to say this is unexpected news."

"Makes sense why we were hiding it from you, doesn't it?" Dean said from the wall across from her. She huffed out a light chuckle, humorless of course, as she raked her fingers through her hair. She shook her head at the ceiling before turning over to the men.

"Are y'all sure?" she asked.

Dean and Bobby shared a look. "Are we sure?" the former repeated. "Well, let's take a look at the evidence, shall we?" Dean started, holding up his fingers as he listed off the facts. "Angels and demons walking among humans, more demons on earth than there's ever been, a bunch of strange and unexplained things going on around the world that can only be explained through Revelations…," the man trailed off to shrug and re-cross his arms. "You tell me if that sounds like a lineup for judgment day."

Frankie exhaled as she closed her eyes. She forced herself to sit up on the couch and clutch her knees. "Why?" she thought aloud. "Why now? Why is the world ending now? I mean, I know sin walks the earth like there's no tomorrow, but… _why_?" She opened her eyes, slowly glancing over to her brother across the room. "How could this happen?"

If she had been any more unfocused, she would have never caught the guilty glint in Dean's eyes. "What?" she quickly asked. The man faintly winced. He obviously didn't want her to see that look. Frankie was curious over that look. What did he have to feel guilty about?

"Nothing," he quickly averted. Frankie nearly went to question him further, but he cut her off. "Point is we're trying to prevent the end of the world, not go down with it. All we need to do is stop the seals from breaking and one surefire way to do that is to get rid of the bitch breakin' 'em."

"Makes enough sense," Frankie noted on the side.

"But in the meantime," Bobby added from the desk, "maybe you can help us with a few things."

Frankie perked up and swung her legs to the floor. "Yeah? What with?"

"You're a well-read girl, right?" Dean asked. Frankie cocked her head to the side in thought.

"I'd say so."

"Whuduya know about th' seals?" asked Bobby.

The girl gawked at the older man before dryly chuckling. "What do _I_ know about the seals? I just learned about what they were. What makes y'all think I know anything?"

"You don't know anything?" Dean followed up. "None of your books mentioned anything about seals or Lucifer's cage or anything?"

Frankie thought about it for a few moments, but she knew good and well what the answer was. She shook her head as she apologetically glanced to Dean. "Sorry. I study cryptids, not religious allegories."

What little of Dean's face that held onto hope fell. He sighed through his nostrils as he looked off to the side. "Well, there goes that idea," he mumbled under his breath.

Frankie suddenly felt awful. She realized that in Dean's eyes she had just proven that she was of no help to them. Back in the car, Sam had offered that she may know about the seals. Dean agreed to give her a chance for that reason. She had just proven that she didn't know about them… and that she couldn't help.

"Well that just leaves Lilith," he sighed. With a long yell from the man downstairs, Dean sighed again, this time longer and with his eyes shut. "And Sam." The man brought a hand up to his forehead and massaged the area.

Frankie watched her brother with worrisome eyes. This was such a hard time for him. With Sam and the end of the world and _her_ … how could one man have so much on his shoulders? Frankie couldn't imagine having all of that on her as well as all the _other_ weight she had on her shoulders! Her kidneys, her parents, her identity, her acceptance, demons, angels, the apocalypse!

She shook her head while rubbing her face with her hand. "The apocalypse," she whispered under her breath in disbelief.

"Sixteen," Bobby and Dean said in unison. Frankie frowned at them through her fingers.

The phone at the desk began to ring. All eyes darted to the chiming phone as Bobby picked it up and held it to his ear. "Hello? … Suck dirt and die, Rufus. You call me again I'll kill ya."

Frankie's eyebrows shot up at the sudden tone of Bobby. Dean apparently thought the same thing as he stepped over to the desk. "What's up with Rufus?" he asked.

"He knows," the older man gruffly answered.

As the phone rang once again, Frankie quietly asked Dean, "Who's Rufus?" He merely waved her off as Bobby snatched up the phone again, leaving her to drop her face into a contempt frown.

"I'm busy, ya sonnuva bitch. This better be important." Frankie and Dean then watched in unanimous confusion as the expression on Bobby's face grew solemn. A shocked glance up to Dean deepened the puzzlement in the two. "Uh huh," he muttered as he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. He began writing down what he was hearing on the other line in a frantic pace.

Frankie was left to wonder what the hell was going on. She felt so far behind the other two in regard to what was happening and for good reason. She was really far behind! She didn't know anything about the apocalypse or how long they had been trying to stop the seals or what any of the seals even were. She had no business being in the room as they discussed it. It wasn't like she could help in any way.

She sighed as she sat back on the couch. She absentmindedly brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear, but she stopped when she realized there was no ear there to catch the hair. She then remembered the fact that there were old bandages covering her entire ear. How could she forget that?

She glanced over to Dean and Bobby. They seemed caught up with Rufus matters and whatever that entailed. She decided to finally see once and for all what kind of damage that beast of a ghoul did to her ear.

She rose from the couch and made her way to the foyer and staircase. She climbed up to the second floor and made a beeline for the bathroom up there. She opened the door and entered, stopping and standing in front of the small mirror above the sink.

Frankie looked at her reflection. She barely looked like herself anymore. Dark bags sagged under her eyes and the bruise on her eye looked worse in the light. She let a breath spill out of her mouth. As bad as she looked, though, she appeared a lot better than she felt. Well, that also depended on what was under the bandages.

Her eyes shifted over to the white tape on her ear. It was the moment of truth. Over four days of wondering was about to be put to rest. She placed her hand on top of the injured ear and stuck her thumb underneath the tape. She pulled on the bandages, but just as the first of the tape came off, she hesitated. She didn't know what to expect, and she was almost scared at what she would see.

' _Knock it off, Frankie,'_ she thought to herself. _'It's an ear. Not a vestigial twin.'_

She closed her eyes tight, clenched her teeth, and ripped off the bandages in one tear. It didn't sting much, but the area did feel cool with the fresh air brushing the sheltered skin.

She opened her eyes.

Her earlobe was gone. In place of it, the cartilage surrounding the bite had tooth marks embedded into the skin. Tooth marks of her _own_ teeth. And the injury didn't just stop at the lobe. Half of the ear's helix was gone with it. The ghoul had shaved off most of the outer edge of her ear in one swift tear.

Frankie's eyes welled with tears. She looked at the ugly, mangled skin that took the place of her missing flesh. The sensitive skin was a darker, duller color. She was afraid to touch it.

All her life she had gotten scratches and bruises. All her life she scraped the skin off of her toes and fingers. Once or twice she had even been bitten by a wild animal. But never, not once did she ever imagine having a piece of her body eaten off. Never did she imagine that a creature she once idolized would be the cause of an irreversible deformity.

"Hey, you okay?" Dean's voice carried as he approached the bathroom. Frankie turned her head over to the man, a single tear tracing the length of her face. He froze at the sight of the tear. His brows furrowed in a silent question as to why she was crying, but his entire face went blank when his eyes shifted to her ear. He set his jaw at the sight.

Frankie knew that wasn't a good sign. Another tear raced after the last. "Does," she choked out. "Does it look bad?"

She began counting the seconds it took Dean to finally respond. Five. "It's not… _great_."

Frankie's lungs forced out a sigh as she lowered her head. With a clench of her heart, she lifted her eyes back up to the mirror. "Ugh, look at it," she moaned. "It's… horrible!"

"C'mon. It's not that bad." Dean shuffled awkwardly before he finally rested against the doorframe in an attempt to look collected and relaxed. "Look on the bright side," his voice chimed from her side. "You can get your earrings half off now."

Dean was expecting her to shoot him a look at his terrible joke. Hell, he even expected her to maybe let out a small chuckle, but he was definitely not expecting her throat to let out that tiny squeak, that small whimper before the real tears came.

He went owl-eyed at the girl in front of him. She brought a hand up to cover her eyes as her chest heaved and her shoulders trembled. Her sob came in hushed whines, her tears dropping noisily on the sink under her.

Dean didn't know what to do. She was crying about some ear injury that didn't look totally bad. It wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been! People have had it way worse than she did. She had no reason to cry over such a small result.

"Hey," he spoke, his voice gaining a harder edge. Frankie didn't stop. "You got lucky. It could've been worse. It's could've been a _lot_ worse." The girl finally removed her hand from her eyes. "Y'know, I know a woman who had both of her eyes burned out of her skull, and she lived through it. And you know what? She learned to deal with that. At least you're not deaf."

Frankie sniffled at his story. She looked over to the man and tried for a sigh, but it came out as a shaky mess. "You're right," she croaked. She set herself down on the edge of the bathtub as she wiped her tears from her eyes with her sleeve. "You're right, you're right. It's just… I wasn't expecting to _lose_ pieces of my ear. I wasn't expecting to come into contact with a real life _ghoul_ either, but…"

"Yeah well, that's the life for you. Not as glamorous as you had hoped, huh?" Dean added while crossing his arms.

His head whipped back down to the girl when her sobs picked back up louder this time. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the crying girl across from him. He uncrossed his arms and brought a hand up to rub his neck. He was very uncomfortable with confrontational moments like this.

Finally, he sighed and stepped over to the toilet beside the tub. He sat down on the lid and hesitated. He wasn't an expert in comforting crying girls who had escaped death from a ghoul – that was Sam's job – so he did what he usually did when Sam was in a rut.

He patted her back a few times. "C'mon. It'll be okay. It's not that bad."

"I know it's not that bad," the girl snapped weakly. Her breath trembled as she exhaled. "I know I got luckier than others, it's just… I…," she rubbed her face with both hands as she tried to collect herself. She then removed her hands and linked them between her knees. Her voice came out clearer when she tried again. "Seeing my ear… feeling how jacked up it is… it's a reminder that this is all _really_ happening. That I'm not in some sort of coma. That there are monsters that wanna kill me and other people… and that those that wanna kill me also wanna set Lucifer free! It's just… it's just too much."

Dean looked at Frankie. He looked at the girl who seemed so hopeful when she found out she had brothers. Too bad she had to have him and Sam as brothers. This was her life now. Mangled injuries, feelings of dread, monsters following their every move.

"You're preachin' to the choir," he sighed. He watched as she blinked, causing a tear to rush down her cheek. She really had it rough the past few days. He wasn't making it easier on her, he knew that. He was trying to keep her away from the life, not yet seeing that giving her a ride to Adam's house that night sealed her fate for good.

He shook his head. He knew just what she needed, what they both needed, to remedy the dread they both felt. He reached to the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a first aid kit. He opened the lid and pulled out a flask. He threw the kit back under the sink and opened the flask, giving it a sniff and a taste test. He grimaced at the burn before handing it over to the girl.

Frankie looked over to the man, her brows narrowed, before setting her sights on the offered flask. She wondered just how many flasks these guys owned. She didn't question anything further, though, and took the canteen, not a word spoken. She knocked back a good sip, wincing at the horrid burning that she was met with. She had missed it.

She handed it back to the man for him to take a drink and he handed it right back to her for her to sip it again. They shared the flask until there wasn't a drop left inside it. Soon, they both relaxed, even if a little bit. Frankie had stopped her crying and her sniffling had soon ended behind it. Dean, though he still felt like asshole of the year, was able to shove his dismay for dragging her into her gloom in the back of his mind where it belonged.

Things were quiet between the two. They liked the shared silence better than the annoying sighing, huffing, and arguing they seemed to usually do. Perhaps alcohol was their mediator.

Frankie smiled at the thought. The one thing that could bring them closer together was something that could kill her faster. Oh well. She cared more about her relationship with her brother than her life anyway.

She looked over to the man who was setting the flask on the sink. "Dean," she spoke up, her voice raspy from her sobs. He met her eyes. She noticed just how pretty his eyes were when he wasn't scowling. She gave a small smile to him. "Thanks."

A corner of his mouth curved upwards. That was the best smile he could give her. She would take it. "No problem." Frankie wiped the wet residue from her eyelashes. "But just a little heads up," he continued, his voice growing more serious than before, but still using a gentle tone. "If you're gunna stick around, you're gunna need to grow some thicker skin. Because I'm not always gunna be around to pat you on the back, y'know? You're gunna need to learn pat yourself on the back."

"W-Wait… you mean I can… stay?" Frankie asked, her voice hopeful as she looked into Dean's eyes. The man hesitated, moving his mouth to find the right words before sighing.

"Well we can't exactly let you loose knowing the end of the world is about to happen, can we?" Frankie's face split into a grin. "Now don't go getting any ideas. You may be staying here, but that doesn't mean you're gunna go off and be a hunter."

"I know, I know. The ol' speech," Frankie sighed with a roll of her eyes. "Does this mean I get the guest room?"

The man went to spit out some sort of sarcastic remark about who deserves the guest room, but he was cut off by the hollering Bobby from downstairs. "Dean! Get yer ass down here!"

The man snapped his mouth shut and stood from the toilet. Frankie, not wanting to be alone after the whole emotional spill, stood up, too, and followed Dean downstairs. They stepped into the foyer while Bobby looked down at a few pieces of paper.

"Got anything?" Dean asked the man.

"News. The news ain't good," Bobby grunted as he handed him the papers. Frankie looked over Dean's shoulder at the copies of newspaper articles.

"This is what Rufus called about?" the younger man asked, sifting through the papers. "'Key West sees ten species go extinct'?" he read.

"Yep. Plus, Alaska? Fifteen man fishing crew all stricken blind, cause unknown. New York, teacher goes postal, locks the door, kills exactly sixty-six kids. All this in a single day?" Frankie shot her eyes over to Bobby. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. All those awful things happened in one day? Maybe it really was the end of the world. "I looked 'em up. There's no doubt about it. They're all seals, breaking _fast_."

Dean lowered the papers and turned with Frankie to face Bobby. "How many are left?" he asked.

Bobby shrugged. "Who knows? Can't be many." Frankie rested her arm in her hand, bringing her fingers to her mouth and chewing on the nails. It didn't sound like they had much time left. "Where th' hell are yer angel pals?"

Frankie's eyes darted up. She had forgotten about Sam and Dean's friend Castiel. Although, as of recent events, it didn't seem like he was much of their friend anymore.

"You tell me," Dean grunted as he slapped the papers on the desk. As he turned around and paced the floor, Frankie sighed and crossed her arms while thinking about the impending doom they were all facing.

"I'm just wonderin'," Bobby said while walking from around the desk, scratching his beard.

"What?" Dean asked as he stopped his pacing and turned around.

"The apocalypse bein' nigh and all… it's not really the right time to be havin' this little domestic drama of ours?"

"What do you mean?" Dean spoke for the both him and Frankie.

Bobby looked at him with a twinkle of discomfort in his eyes. "Well, I don't like this anymore than you do, but… Sam can kill demons. He's got a shot at stopping Armageddon."

"So what?" Dean bit, attitude rising a bit as he stepped forward. "Sacrifice Sam's life? His soul for the greater good? That's what you're saying? Times are bad so let's use Sam's as a nuclear warhead?"

Bobby sighed. "Look, I know you hate me for suggestin' it. _I_ hate me for suggestin' it. I love that boy like a son. All I'm sayin' is… maybe he's here right now instead of on the battlefield… because we love him too much."

Her eyes switched back and forth between the two. "So it's true," Frankie muttered. Bobby and Dean looked over to the girl, seemingly having forgotten that she was in the room as they talked about personal matters. "Sam drinking demon blood for powers. It's… he was telling the truth."

Bobby pressed his lips together and sighed. He forgot that he didn't confirm that. "Yes it's true."

Frankie thought back to her confrontation with Sam. If he was telling the truth about that, maybe he was telling the truth about promising to check for compatibility. Frankie tightened the hold on her arms as she heaved a great sigh. It probably wasn't true. It was probably just the ramblings of a desperate man. Ramblings or not, though, she'd make sure to ask him about it when he got out of the panic room.

That is… _if_ he got out of the panic room.

* * *

The next few hours went by slowly. Dean had excused himself to go outside. The others didn't know why, but they understood. If Sam's situation was taking a toll on anyone, it was Dean. Bobby and Frankie instead stayed in the study and listened to the screaming below them.

Bobby researched as much as he could on the seals and buried himself in his work. He had made an offset comment to Frankie when he was gathering books saying that he was thankful for her organizing. "At least something is in order around here," he uttered as he set himself down at the desk. It placed a much needed smile on Frankie's face, and it made it easier to get through the remaining sorting she had to do.

Once Frankie finished her stacking, she sat down on the couch. She ran her fingers through her hair as Sam was experiencing a rather violent episode. She worried about him. It was driving her insane listening to him scream himself raw. She couldn't imagine what he was going through. She only hoped it wouldn't last long.

Why would Sam drink demon blood? She wanted to believe it was for good, but nothing about demons, even draining them of blood, seemed right. Any association with them was bad news if her experiences added up. Yes, he gained powers from them, but seeing what withdrawal did to him, what it was doing, nothing about it seemed right.

She shook her head. She needed to keep busy. If she didn't, she'd sink into a rut that she wouldn't come back from. She stood from the couch and looked into the kitchen. Oh yeah. People needed to eat. She wasn't even all that hungry. The seriousness of recent events made her lose her appetite, but soon or later the three of them – and Sam, too – would need to eat.

Frankie made her way into the kitchen and scavenged the pantry and cabinets for something to cook. There wasn't as much to work with like there was a few nights ago, but she had worked culinary miracles before. She rolled up her sleeves and got to work.

* * *

His head was in his hands. His throat burned from the screams that had been ripping through his throat. Any attempt at speaking now would be a raspy jumble of unheard words.

He sighed though his hands. What was the point of calling out anymore? Dean wouldn't let him out until he drained and Bobby thought the same. His only hope to get out was Frankie, but he did a fantastic job of scaring her off. He was an idiot for thinking she would fall for his manipulation. He thought for sure she would buckle at his kidney offer, but she was apparently smarter than that.

"You're damn right I am."

Sam whipped his head around. There she was. Frankie leaned against the iron wall of the panic room, her arms crossed and a stony expression on her face. He huffed out a few remaining pants from his previous screaming session.

"But," the girl continued, pushing off the wall to step closer to him, "apparently not smart enough."

Sam furrowed his brows at her. "What do you mean?" he croaked out.

Frankie snorted. "I shouldn't have come down to talk to you. For some reason I thought I should give you a second chance, but I was wrong. You didn't deserve it, after what _you did_."

She had a much different attitude than when he last saw her. However, her attitude matched perfectly with the one she had the day he met her. "I don't know what you're talking ab-"

"You put my life in danger, Sam," she snapped. He darted his eyes over to her. He wore confusion, but there was a tiny feeling in his head that knew she was right. "Well, in more danger than it was before. You are the reason demons will probably rip off my skin and wear it to prom."

"No I'm not," he growled. "I only gave you an option. You were the one who took it."

"Exactly! You _gave_ me the option. You knew I would take it. You took advantage of my vulnerability, of my _desperation_ to be just like my big brothers!" Sam lowered his head, his mind brewing in mixes of anger and despair.

"I was thinking of your health."

"Sam, when did you start thinking of my health for my own benefit? It's always been about getting me back to my own state. It's always been about getting me away from you."

"Because you are in _danger_ here, Frankie!"

"And whose fault is that?!" the girl yelled, getting in his face. "Huh? Whose suggestion was it to bring me to Bobby's? Whose suggestion was it to see if I could help at all with the apocalypse on the rise? Whose suggestion was it to _trick_ me into coming on a _fake case_ for your own gain, which only led to demons seeing me and associating me with _you_?! Who was it that put my life on the line?!"

"I didn't mean-!" he snarled, his voice trailing off and getting weaker the more he succumbed to her words. "I didn't mean to put you in danger."

"But you knew it would happen. You've always known it would happen." Sam forced himself to look up to the fuming girl in front of him. "Ever since the beginning, the very beginning, people who got involved with you have had their lives ruined. Meg, Henriksen, _Pamela_." Sam shut his eyes and tried to avoid the memories. "Why would I be any different? My fate was sealed the moment I met you at that diner."

"I'm…," he sighed, rubbing his face. His eyes opened, and he looked up into the eyes of his sister. "I'm sorry, Frankie. I am."

The girl held no emotion in her gaze. She looked so much like Dean in that moment. "No you're not. If you are, then you wouldn't promise to check for compatibility." The man winced.

"I promise… I will check for-"

"Don't." He snapped his head up to the girl. His brows narrowed as he looked off to the side, wondering about her refusal.

"I thought that's what you-"

"I don't want _your_ kidney." He grimaced at the venom on her tongue at the enunciated word. "No. I don't want your demon blood riddled organ. A kidney infested with the blood of the monsters that will come after me and wear my body as a meat suit, I don't want that." Sam opened his mouth to say something in response, but he had no words for her. He couldn't possibly say anything that would make her words less true. "I don't want the kidney of a _monster_."

His head snapped up, a dangerous scowl present on his face. His hands formed into fists in his lap. "Don't," he sorrowfully snarled. "Don't you start. Don't you call me that."

"What are you gunna do? Huh?" the girl taunted. She leaned down to eye level and placed her hands on her knees, getting a few good inches from his face. "You gunna kill me, Sam? You gunna kill your little sister? Gunna string me up like the monster you are?"

Sam ground his teeth together to control himself. He clenched his eyes shut and panted in an attempt to keep his anger a low level. He couldn't hear this from her, from the girl he thought was too innocent to be one of them. But right now, she sounded right at home.

"I-," he growled, raising his head to face the girl, but once he did he found her gone. There was no trace that she had even been there.

He heavily sighed. It was, of course, another hallucination, but just like the others they held more truth than falsehood in them. Everything that Frankie had said perfectly matched how she very well could feel after lying to her like he did, and there was nothing he could do to change that. But he had to try, for the longevity of her life, and for the quality of her life.

He had to try, but first he had to get out of there.

* * *

Frankie inhaled the evening air. The sun was getting ready to say goodnight as it colored the sky with hues of purple and gold. It was beautiful, and a much needed relief from the intense wailing and pleading of Sam in the basement. He was having a particularly aggressive fit this time. Frankie thought she could muscle passed it, but the moment he cried out her name she bailed. She put down the food she was preparing and stepping outside to get away from it all.

The birds sang a soothing song before they headed off to bed. It was relaxing. Well, until Bobby and Dean started yelling from inside. Frankie turned around to look at the door. She measured the decision on whether or not to go inside and see what the argument was about this time, but when the yelling suddenly stopped, from both them and Sam, she felt like it was time to investigate.

She walked inside just in time to see the rushed images of Dean and Bobby hurrying down to the basement. In that moment, Frankie felt fear enter her chest again. Sam's silence and the others' frantic hustling downstairs couldn't be a good sign.

She slammed the door behind her, ignoring Bobby's previous warnings not to and rushed down the stairs, not setting aside a single second to think on whether or not this was a good idea. She didn't care what the consequence was. She needed to see what was going on. She refused to be kept in the dark.

When she got to the bottom step, she jumped off and launched for the chamber, finding the door wide open and Bobby and Dean inside. She hurried over, ready to help in any way that she could.

Her blood ran cold at what she saw.

Dean and Bobby were holding Sam down on the cot as he flailed and jerked in a seizure-like state. Frankie looked with rising horror as her brother's eyes rolled back in his skull, leaving a hauntingly white-eyed image to stick in her mind. It seemed like he was almost levitating off of the cot and was only being held down by two grown men.

Frankie was petrified. She knew there was something wrong with Sam, she knew the blood was changing him, but she didn't imagine anything like this. She didn't picture a seizing, grunting husk of what was once her brother. She knew it had to be the demon blood. It was eating him alive.

"Frankie," she heard Dean speak. Her eyes lingered on her flailing brother, but with some extra willpower she was able to shift them over to Dean. He had a conflicting expression on his face, but if Frankie gathered anything from it then it was that he didn't want her to see that.

She would relieve both of them then and flee the scene. She backed up, almost tripping over her feet, before turning around and rocketing out of the basement. Her eyes flooded with tears as she covered her ears in a failed attempt to block out Sam's groaning and gasping.

Once she reached the foyer, she didn't stop. She ran right out of the house and didn't even stop there. She ran off of the porch and kept going and going, passed the Impala and into the maze of junkyard cars. She didn't stop until her foot came into contact with a tire, sending her body launching a few feet into the gravel and dirt.

She let out a cry of pain when she landed. She could feel a few pebbles embedded into her hands and cheek. Not a single moment passed before her chest gave a huge heave and she broke into a violent sob. It wasn't the fall that she was crying about, and it wasn't even Sam she was crying about either.

She was crying about everything.

Everything, going all the way back to the beginning of her worries. She was crying over her mother's death, over her loneliness, over her father's death, over monster's existing, over angels and demons existing, over her ear, over her brothers, over the apocalypse, over _everything_. She curled into a ball. She clutched her knees closer to her chest and let it all out. In the solitude of the junk cars, she let out her own series of wails.

She couldn't stop it if she tried, and she didn't want to. She needed this moment. She had been keeping too much inside for too long. She couldn't take it anymore. The world was ending. If what Dean and Bobby were saying was true, then they didn't stand a chance. The seals were breaking too fast. There was no way they could get to Lilith in time. The apocalypse was sure to happen.

She wasn't ready. As much as she wanted to be, she wasn't. She wasn't like Dean or Bobby. She didn't have thick skin like Dean wanted her… no, _needed_ her to have. Her crying fit, though it felt good, was only a confirmation that she was too weak to be there.

She sat up, wiping her eyes through a few heaving sobs. This was insanity. Life was insanity. Who could possibly put up a tough front in times like this? She couldn't. Not without help at least.

She sniffled as she looked up at the sky. The first of many stars speckled the darkening sky. She really needed some help, and Dean and Bobby were a little too tough to relate to. She needed… _otherworldly_ help.

She wiped the rocks and blood from her hands as she stood up from the ground, sniffles not ceasing. Angels were real, so if they were real, did that mean God was real? She didn't have the time or energy to question it, and instead acted. The situation she found herself in gave her no choice but to resort to something she rarely ever did, and even more rarely believe would help.

"Uh… hey," she started, her voice shaky and small. "I-I don't really know what I'm doing… um… no one showed me the right way to do this, so… if you're really up there… if you're listening… sorry for the lack of formality, but…," she sighed, taking a moment to sniff and blink away excess tears. "I need some help here," she croaked, her voice barely audible. It wasn't like the Big Man was exactly hard of hearing anyway.

"Things ain't too good down here… I'm sure you know that though… but things with me… they… geez, I need a guiding hand here, or I'm gunna be… I need someone. Sam needs someone, but… I don't know if his situation is really your jurisdiction. Just… we need a helping hand. Me, Dean, Bobby… and I don't wanna be selfish, that's not who I am, but… I really need your help. I-I'm in trouble. If I don't find help soon… I'll be…," she lowered her head as she placed her hands on her hips. "Maybe you could send, like, a guardian angel or something? Dean says angels are… well I guess I shouldn't say that to you, but… please. Please help us. Please help _me_. I'm begging you… _please_."

Silent as stars. Not a single answer. It wasn't exactly like she expected one, but some sort of sign would have appeased her aching chest. She sighed as a single tear fell from her lashes. He didn't help then. Why should he help now? After all, he should have his hands full with the apocalypse and everything.

Frankie looked up to the sky when she heard a bird fly above her. It must have been really close, but she didn't see a single one. She lowered her head to look at her clothes. She dusted them off as she turned to head back to the house.

Her heart skipped a beat when she almost ran right into a man who hadn't been there before. She gasped, voice near a yelp, and stepped back from the sudden stranger, but a second look showed that it wasn't a stranger at all.

"J-Jimmy?" she stuttered. Her eyes roamed up and down the figure in the tan trench coat. She shook her head as she met his eyes; those crystal blue eyes that were much too serious for their former escapee. "O-Or I guess… Castiel." Then it clicked in her head. Castiel the _angel_ , the like of which she just prayed for. Her eyes went wide as she looked up to the sky. There was a God! "He heard me. You heard me!" she exclaimed, a relieved smile stretching across her face. "You-!"

She was stopped when the figure stepped forward suddenly, the quick movement pausing her momentary glee. She confusedly looked back into his eyes. The remainder of her elation disappeared at the serious, stony glaze over them. She wanted to ask why he looked so grim when he took another step forward. She flinched, but didn't move.

"Tell no one I was here," he grunted. Frankie's face fell into a confused expression. But… she _asked_ for him. Why would he want-?

All thoughts ceased when the angel raised two fingers to her forehead before her entire world went black.


	14. Chapter 13 - Study

**A/N: Once again, thank you for all of the support! I'm actually a bit surprised at how y'all have been receiving this story. Needless to say, I'm ecstatic. Thanks for everything!**

* * *

Screaming. Crying. Wailing. Flailing. Grunting. Groaning. Twitching. Itching. White eyes. Black eyes.

Screaming.

 _Screaming_.

 _Screaming!_

"Sam!" she gasped, jolting into consciousness and bumping her head on a hard object. She hissed and groaned at the sudden pain on her forehead and inside her head. A headache ripped and roared in her skull.

Frankie sat up with her head in her hands. She opened her eyes and glared around for whatever had hit her when she woke up.

And that was when she noticed that she was in a car.

She didn't panic. It wasn't moving, and she didn't think it would be going anywhere anytime soon. She shifted in the backseat, looking to the driver's side to find no steering wheel present. She sighed, relieved. She must be in one of Bobby's gutted Junker cars.

However, as relieved as she was at not being in a moving car driven by some unknown kidnapper, she was rifling through her brain trying to remember how she ended up in a broken down vehicle. She scoured the inside of the car to see if any dent or scratch could trigger her memory. Nothing came up.

She tried retracing her steps. What was the last thing she remembered before going to sleep? She remembered Sam, obviously. That nightmare wasn't just a nightmare. She remembered running out of the house until she fell and started crying. Not a great memory. Then she remembered speaking out to someone or something… who was it? Ah, that's right. God. She prayed to God. She didn't think it would work, but she tried anyway.

Things were a bit fuzzy after that. She swore that something happened, but she couldn't seem to see passed praying helplessly to the sky. She took a deep breath to clear her thoughts. She looked through the glassless window where daylight was shining through the dust. It was bright out, noon most likely. Maybe a little after. How long had she been out? What happened to her last night?

When she breathed in, something – dust perhaps – flew into her nose, causing her to violently sneeze. It gave her head a particularly painful throb in response. Annoyed at the car for having dust, she shuffled across the backseat and opened the door with an ungodly screeched from the unoiled hinges. She stepped out into the fresh air where she was greeted with a chilly breeze. She grasped and rubbed her arms. She was freezing. Above her head, she heard the cry of a hawk and looked up in time to see it fly passed her.

Fluttering.

Frankie's eyes widened when a memory from the night before filled her mind. She remembered hearing a bird fly above her just like the hawk had. But… was it really a bird? Granted, the fluttering wings sounded way too big for any hawk flying that close. And when she had turned around she saw…

"Castiel," she whispered. She inhaled a deep breath when she remembered every moment, every tiny detail, before it was lights out. Castiel walked up to her and told her not to speak of him being there. Then he had touched her forehead, and that was the last of her consciousness.

 _He_ put her to sleep? _He_ put her in the car? The hell was his problem? Why go through that trouble? And for what?! Frankie was overwhelmed with confusion and frustration at the angel. She had prayed for a guardian angel, someone to help out in the tough moments she and the others were going through, but what she got was a guy with a stern look that Vulcan nerve pinched her forehead and shoved her into a car that nearly gave her asthma.

She looked back at the old rust bucket. Narrowing her brows, she channeled the stress and confusion she was feeling towards Castiel into a hard kick to the side of the car. "Damn angel," she grumbled.

All of a sudden, the sounds of an engine hit her ears. She snapped her eyes over to the car she had just assaulted. Did… did she just Fonzie the car with her foot? That proved to not be the case, though, when the sound of a truck engine rumbled far behind her out of the maze of cars. She whipped her head around. That must be the direction of the house.

She gave her chilly arms another set of rubs as she made her way to the truck. Just when she got to the exit of the piles of junkyard cars, the engine cut off and she saw the image of Bobby's house.

"No. Yes, I checked. No dice." Frankie darted her eyes towards the sound of Bobby's voice. He hopped out of his truck and shut the door with a soft slam. He sounded frustrated. "I went up and down three times, Dean. If she was on the road she's not there now." By the sound of it, he must have been looking for her. "I know it'll be dark soon. Why else ya think I'm so damn jazzed, ya idgit?" he snapped.

Frankie realized that she shouldn't just stand there while Bobby fretted over the phone with Dean about her whereabouts. She pushed forward, walking towards the man. The sound of her feet – shoeless feet no less; it was a wonder how she wasn't sick yet – shuffling the gravel caught the man's attention.

"Fer Pete's sake!" he snapped, turning on his heels and marching towards the girl. Frankie was worried that he was pissed at her by the sound of his voice and the vigor in his step. "I found her. Call ya back," he spoke into his cellphone before shoving it in his pocket. "The hell you run off to? We've been lookin' for ya fer hours!"

Frankie was speechless. It wasn't like she didn't have an answer for him. She just didn't have the energy to put up a force against his apparent anger at her. With the emotional rollercoaster that was the night before mixed with the cold drawing out her strength, she didn't have much to work with.

She must have been visibly shivering, because Bobby placed the back of his knuckles against the bare skin on her arm. "Yer a damn block of ice, kid. Get inside." This time he spoke much softer, which eased the anxiety in Frankie. He placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her inside the house.

He motioned for her to sit on the couch. Frankie complied without a word. He draped his blanket over her shoulders. She received it by clutching the edges and tucking them around her. Bobby disappeared upstairs for only a minute or two before he came back down with a heavy quilt, which he dropped on her shoulders. It was an unneeded weight, but it was warm.

Bobby's next mode of action was to light a fire in the fireplace behind the desk. The moment the flames formed in the pit, Frankie felt the heat on her face. She smiled gratefully up at the man.

Now done preparing her a warm space to settle, Bobby's face took a stern turn. Frankie knew she was about to be reprimanded. "Now that yer all cozy," he began, sitting himself down in the desk chair, "mind sharin' where you ran off to last night?" Frankie shifted wordlessly in the blankets for a few quiet moments before Bobby let out a sigh and tried again. "Look, I ain't mad at ya. I know why you ran. You don't need to explain that." Frankie raised her eyes to see that Bobby's were downcast, pointing to the floor. "Seein' Sam like that… I get why ya did it." His eyes then flicked back up to her. "What I just wanna know is where you were all day."

Frankie's gaze lingered on the man before shifting to look out the window. How long _had_ Castiel made her sleep? Aside from that fact, Frankie wondered just how much she should tell him. Castiel just told her to keep silent about his presence there, not that he had placed her in a damn car. And aside from _that_ fact, she wondered why Castiel would order her silence anyway. Why would he entrust her with keeping his secret? He didn't know her.

Or… did he? That lingering look he gave her at the warehouse still bugged her.

She darted her eyes back over to Bobby when she realized that he was sitting back and waiting for her to speak. He hadn't let up on the question. "The cars," she finally answered. "I ran out into the cars and stayed there."

"You can do better than that," the older man brusquely muttered, crossing his arms. Frankie sent him a confused and indignant gaze. "That was the first place we looked. We checked four or five times. You weren't out there."

Frankie adjusted the quilt on her shoulders so it wouldn't slide off. "I spent the night in one of the cars. The blue Cadillac in that direction. Late 80s, I think."

Bobby looked out the window in the direction in which she had gestured. It seemed as though he knew which one she was referring to even though it was nowhere in the viewing vicinity. When his eyes returned to her, they had the tiniest hint of approval in them as he sat back in the chair. "'87. You know yer stuff."

Frankie gave a half shrug. "Had a babysitter when I was a kid in Bama. He was a mechanic. Talkative." Bobby snorted and nodded, looking as if he knew the type.

"Explains why yer shakin' like a hooker in church. Th' hell were you doin' sleepin' in there anyway?"

This was where Frankie's mind went blank. How could she explain sleeping in the back of an old car in a believable way? With a clenched heart at the memory, Frankie settled on the reason she ran in the first place.

"I couldn't go back inside after that. What I saw was…," she trailed off. She didn't need to say the word. Bobby understood. "So when I got tired I just crawled into the nearest car and curled up. It didn't take much to fall asleep. I was tired to begin with."

It seemed good enough for Bobby. He didn't question her any further on her choice of a bed, leaving them to sit in mild silence.

And then Frankie's ears finally caught up to her.

"It's quiet," she noted aloud. She glanced up to Bobby, slight hope in her eyes. "Did Sam finally stop yelling?"

Bobby didn't need to say a single word for Frankie to figure out that something was amiss. His face alone spelled out that something was terribly wrong. "Sam…," he sighed while looking down at his crossed arms, a look passing his eyes that resembled guilt, "… is gone."

Frankie froze, her shivering from the cold long gone and replaced with stunned rigidness. "What?" she breathed out, hoping that she heard him wrong. He nodded.

"He escaped last night. Wasn't too long after we stopped lookin' for you before restin' on it." Frankie's eyes slowly lowered to the floor. No, he couldn't have. "Don't know how the hell he did it. We strapped him down. We cuffed him to the bed. Only thing we could think of was he had help from his demon buddy, but even then she couldn't-"

"Woah, woah, hold up," Frankie blurted, waving a hand for him to stop. "Sam… is friends with a _demon_?"

"Yep. You'd think we taught him nothing," the man sighed. "Her name's Ruby, or so she says. Can't trust the bitch for a second."

Ruby. Another name dropped by her brothers in the Impala. That explains the awkward silence after Dean mentioned her.

Frankie shook her head. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. After everything Sam said about protecting her from demons, keeping her away from them, now he's best friends with one? What else was wrong with him?!

She blew air out of her mouth as she leaned forward, holding her head in her hands. "What's happening?"

"You got me. Things are going up in flames fast. Sam's gone rogue, Dean's off to find him, no one knows how many seals are left, all of Hell's about to break loose. Literally." Frankie shut her eyes as a hefty sigh slithered out of her nose. "No doubt th' red carpet's being rolled out for the Devil as we speak."

"Jesus Christ," Frankie mumbled, bringing her linked hands to her mouth.

"Yep. Really could use him right about now."

Frankie stewed in the fear of the impending apocalypse for a few moments before getting her mind reeling for ideas. "What about Lilith? We can still kill her, right? That should stop it?"

The shake of Bobby's head was not reassuring. "Sam's gone AWOL and Dean's off lookin' for him with the knife. As far as we know, they're the only two who can off her." Frankie snapped her eyes down to her bag not two feet from Bobby. "But Dean's the only one who should." Frankie tilted her head in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Bobby pressed his lips together, giving his beard a scratch. "You were takin' a breather when he told me… but while we were researchin' and organizin' yesterday, Dean signed away his freedom to be Heaven's call boy."

Frankie was taken aback by the news. She knew she should have gone into the house sooner to see what they were arguing about. "He did what?"

Bobby nodded. "The angels think he should be the one to kill Lilith, not Sam. If Sam tries to get strong enough to kill her, then…"

Frankie leaned closer to the man after he stopped speaking for a few seconds. "What?" she asked, worry coating her voice. As frustrated as she was about Sam escaping instead of getting better as well as him being friends with a demon, she worried a great deal about him. If anything were to happen to him, well… Frankie couldn't afford to lose another relative, no matter how long she had known him. "What'll happen to him, Bobby?"

The man lifted his hat off of his head to scratch his scalp. "He needs to drink gallons of demon blood to be anywhere close to bein' strong enough to kill Lilith, and if he does that… it would change him forever. He'd become a-"

"Demon?" Frankie finished for him. Her voice cracked with fear at the thought of her brother becoming something that could kill her in unspeakable ways.

Bobby took a moment to sigh and lower his head. "More or less."

Frankie could feel her heart picking up its pace in her chest. She had only just met her brother and now she was being told this. She thought back to the first time she met Sam. He seemed so nice, so normal. She would have never thought in a million years that he was harboring a severe demon blood addiction and was on the verge of becoming the very thing he swore to kill.

She wondered how things would have changed had she known that beforehand. She would have never agreed to meet him. She would have never met Dean or Bobby. She would have never known about the true existence of monsters or that demons and angels were actually real. She wouldn't have had a clear hunch that God was still around. She wouldn't have known about her family's hunting business and she would never have had to worry about the very things she was fretting over now.

But here she was, on Bobby's couch being told that Sam was on the verge of becoming a monster. And if she dug real deep inside herself and gave it a thought or two, she wouldn't have it any other way. Knowing now what she did, she had the chance to step up and help him. It wasn't like she actually stood a chance, but she was sitting on that couch, alive and available to help. The apocalypse was pounding on the back door. There were no more excuses. She was tired of being told to sit on the sidelines. She was tired of having emotions.

It was time to step up and be a hunter.

"Well I guess we better get out there and bring him back."

Bobby grunted as he hoisted himself out of his chair. "That's what Dean is off to do."

"Then let's get in a car and go help him," she advised with a nod.

"Not a good idea. Our job is to stay put and rustle up anything on the seals."

"Fuck the seals," Frankie bit. Bobby snapped his head over to the girl, surprised at her outburst. "Lucifer's most likely gunna break free anyway. Like you said, all of Hell is about to break loose. Right now, we need to worry about Sam."

"What do you think I'm doin'?"

"Dean can't go alone. You said Sam has a pet demon in his pocket. If he's as crazy as he was in the panic room, then he's not gunna go easy. Dean really doesn't need to tackle both Sam _and_ a demon at the same time."

"You think I don't know that? I know it's not gunna be a pretty fight, but if anyone stands a chance of gettin' through to Sam it's Dean. We'll only make it worse."

"How is having backup worse?"

"It's worse when only one person is capable of providin' that backup!"

"Bobby, you're not even trying!" Frankie shouted, standing from the couch. The blanket and quilt fell to the floor behind her. "Their lives could be in jeopardy!"

"Their lives are always in jeopardy. That's called bein' a hunter!"

Frankie clenched her jaw at his harsh tone, but she didn't buckle. She put on a serious face of her own as she held her ground. "Then I guess I've got a lot of catching up to do."

She turned away from the confused expression that infiltrated his face and sat back on the couch to shove on her shoes. "What th' hell does that mean?" Bobby asked as he watched her get up and grab her denim jacket. "Where're you goin' now?"

"I'm going for a walk," the girl grumbled as she walked through the kitchen, heading for the back door.

"Oh no yer not. I just found ya. Yer not runnin' off again." She stopped in the threshold of the back door. Before she walked out, she turned to shoot him a challenging look.

"I'm not gunna be under house arrest while Lucifer is on the verge of being set loose." She turned and walked through the door, shutting it firmly behind her without another word from Bobby.

* * *

It began to drizzle outside, but Frankie was sheltered by the looming trees above her. She decided to take a long walk through the woods behind Bobby's house so she could clear her head and think about her next move. If she was going to step up and be the hunter she knew she could be, she needed to start thinking ahead instead of in the moment.

' _Okay,'_ she thought as she kicked a rock down the path. _'Lucifer's about to be freed, Sam is slowly deteriorating, and Dean is gone. What am I gunna do now?'_ The only thing she saw was Sam's eyes rolling in the back of his skull. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push the image away. _'What am I gunna do…,'_ she thought again.

She saw Dean's stunned face with a bullet hole in his forehead. She shook her head and opened her eyes to watch her feet kick rocks and sticks. _'Dammit, just think of a plan already!'_

Walking and thinking wasn't working. She had too many thoughts roaming in her mind. She needed some space to relax and think. If she didn't work out a proper plan soon, she would be left behind when the battle for Earth came knocking on Bobby's door.

Frankie lifted her eyes from the dirt below her. She spotted a creek up the path and headed over to it. It was calmly flowing, the water gliding over the rocks like a sheet. She could see a few fish swimming together in small clumps. It seemed peaceful enough. She looked around for a place to sit and found a moss covered rock just out of reach of the water.

Frankie sat on top of it. She tucked her feet underneath her legs and closed her eyes, breathing in and out several times to clear whatever she could of her mind. It seemed like it was working enough. The water relaxed her, and the birds chirping in the distant created a soothing mood. The rich smell of the plants and lichen around her helped to ease the distress pulsating through her subconscious.

' _Alright. Don't think about Sam or Dean. Don't think about Castiel. Don't think about Lucifer. Let's just think about what we need to do to be a proper hunter.'_ She paused her thoughts to let out a long breath. _'Okay. Demons are the biggest problem we're facing right now. What do I know about demons? Well, they don't like salt and they don't like Holy Water. How the hell am I gunna get my hands on some Holy Water…? Okay, what else? Uh… oh! Christo. Gotta remember that one. And what else can hurt them? Well, I guess… my machete.'_

Frankie momentarily opened her eyes at the thought of her mother's weapon. It still confounded her how such a nonviolent woman could possess something like a blade of that stature. A simple knife would do. Maybe even a baseball bat would suffice, but her mother chose a machete.

She didn't think it to be true, but Frankie wondered if there was more to her mother than she initially thought.

She closed her eyes again to delve back into a thoughtful state. _'Okay. So I gotta work on my blade handling skills and my strength. Can't end up like I did with those other demons. Maybe I could sign up for a gym membership or something.'_

A gust of wind blew through the trees, giving Frankie a chill. She glanced up to the swaying branches above her. When she turned her head to go back to meditating, a particular branch caught her eye. It was just the right height from the ground for her to grab, but was high enough so that her feet wouldn't touch the forest floor if she hung from it.

Her mind reeled for a few moments, thinking over an idea that came to her. She needed to work out, but she really didn't want to have to pay for a gym membership. Therefore, she'd use God's gym.

Satisfied with the idea, Frankie hopped off of the rock and walked over to the tree branch. She observed it. It seemed stable. With a grab and a shake, she found that it was sturdy enough to hold her, or at least she hoped. She took a moment to let out a few readying breath and swung her arms around to make sure they were loose enough. She threw in a few stretches, too. Can't be too careful when working out. She crouched down to jump and leaped up to grab hold of the branch.

The bark scraped and pinched the soft palms of her hands, causing her to let go and plummet to the ground with a small squeal from the shocked girl.

She sat on the ground in a daze, blinking and thinking over what had just happened. She raised an annoyed scowl up to the tall tree. "Ow!" she shouted at it. She rubbed her hands together. Curse her un-calloused skin!

She lifted herself off of the ground, dusting off her pants. She sent a challenging glower up to the branch. _'So that's how you wanna play, huh?'_ she thought. She clapped her hands together before jumping and grabbing it once again, this time preparing for the pins and needles in her hands. She clenched her teeth against a particular piece of bark diggin into her palm.

Her body swung for a few moments before she was left hanging off of the branch. Her arms were already aching from supporting her weight. She looked ahead, puffing out a few breaths to ready herself. With a sharp inhale, she flexed her arms to pull herself up.

"Goddammit!" she groaned through clenched teeth. She wasn't moving. She was pulling and pulling, but she wasn't getting any closer to the branch. _'This was so much easier in middle school!'_

Finally, she let go, dropping to the ground in defeat. "Nuh uh," she panted, lifting her gaze up to the fiendish branch. "I ain't giving up on you." After taking a minute to catch her breath, she did a few more stretches. She rolled her arms to loosen up her shoulders and touched her toes, working to stretch out her back, too. She needed to do this. She had to do at least _one_ pullup.

After deeming herself fully loosened and stretched, she narrowed her eyes on the branch and grabbed it once more. This time, she tried to use her swinging to her advantage and rocked her body back and forth to try and get use the momentum. It wasn't working too well. Beginning to feel defeat crawling on the back of her neck, she wildly flailed her legs, kicking them frantically in the air, and let out a series of struggled growls.

She changed the position of her hands and tried that. It didn't help much either. She brought her knees up to her stomach, but that made things tougher. She wouldn't give up, though. She was stubborn. She stopped flexing and relaxed her arms, letting her body hang freely on the branch.

She sighed and lowered her head. Man, she was weak. She was sure that Sam and Dean could have done a set of a hundred by then.

Sam and Dean. Apex hunters. The class standard. She had to be as good as her brothers. If she wasn't, she wouldn't survive, and she needed to survive. If she was going to do this, she needed to be resilient. She couldn't give up.

She tried again. She pulled and rocked and growled. She relaxed again, and then tried it once more. And then she relaxed. And then she tried it again. She kept repeating her actions until her previously sprained wrist began to ache with each pull. Soon, it burned with pain. She knew she was screwing it up in more ways than one, but she wasn't giving up.

She let out a wild growl that turned into a snarl. As the roar ripped through her throat, she began to get a little higher, the branch began to get a little closer, and her wrist began to hurt even more. Her voice resembled more of a scream by the time her arms bent halfway. Her forehead had just barely reached the branch when her wrist gave a small pop, sending her entire body plunging to the unforgiving ground below.

She lay there in the dirt, defeated by a bum wrist. Her eyes fluttered closed. Of course she couldn't do one pullup. She really shouldn't have expected to after years of sitting around and not exercising. That only meant that she would have to work harder.

She sat up, idly rubbing her wrist. Her eyes lifted up to her enemy, the branch. She wouldn't let it get the best of her. Sure, it won this battle, but there would be more battles and she'd be damned if she didn't prevail. She just needed to get smarter, bulk up, and take things slowly, even if the entire world around her was moving too fast.

Frankie made the trek back to the house. She stopped every half mile to clear her mind of intrusive thoughts and to think about her undeveloped game plan. When she finally reached Bobby's house, it had stopped drizzling. Her clothes were cold and damp, but Frankie pushed passed the negative feelings, especially when she walked into the warm house.

She immediately headed for the freezer. She took out an icepack and a cloth from a drawer, placing on her stinging wrist. Granted, it didn't hurt nearly as bad as a few days ago, but she didn't want to take any chances of it swelling up again.

It didn't take long at all for Bobby to appear in the kitchen. When he laid his eyes on Frankie, he wore an expression of relief. As far as she could tell, he didn't look aggravated anymore. They both had taken time to cool off.

At first they didn't say anything, though Bobby sure did want to speak up. He looked as if he were trying to find the right words to say after the lightly heated conversation they had earlier, but he eventually found something to say.

"Gunna make a trip to the store, figure somethin' out fer dinner. Yer welcome to come if you want." Frankie was relieved that they wouldn't have to continue where they left off. Before she could answer him, though, he finally spotted the icepack on her wrist. "You get hurt?"

"No," she immediately answered. "Just stung a bit. I didn't want it to start swelling, so… I'd love to go into town. It'd be nice to get out of the house for a bit."

Though suspicious about her suddenly hurting wrist, he gave an agreeing nod and turned to fetch his keys. "Why don't ya change out of those clothes. I don't want ya gettin' sick."

"Yeah, I don't either," Frankie muttered back with a light chuckle following her response. She followed Bobby out of the kitchen and into the living room. The man told her that he would be waiting for her outside by his truck when she finished.

Frankie went upstairs to toss her bag into the guest room. No matter what Dean said in regard to who got the guest room, she would be using it that night. She changed into a blue plaid button up shirt and dry jeans. She swapped out her filthy socks for some dry, clean ones, but she could still feel the dampness from her only pair of shoes through them. Finishing up her change by tugging on her denim jacket, she zipped up her bag and headed outside to meet Bobby.

She sent a half smile his way and he returned it as he rounded his truck. Frankie hoisted herself inside the truck as he settled behind the wheel and turned the ignition. In no time, they were off to town, leaving the looming negativity of the house behind them.

For the most part, the drive was quiet. The only sound that filled the air was the low rumble of the truck and the passing cars down the highway. Frankie didn't register the quietness, though. She gazed outside the window, watching the world pass by.

All that she saw, all that was around them would be overrun with demons under Lucifer's control. All the people that drove passed in their cars, all the families enjoying themselves in the parks, every animal that carried on their normal everyday lives would be in direct danger. But Frankie wondered, would any of them be aware that the apocalypse was going on? Would any of them know that Lucifer was freed or that demons were stalking in the shadows?

If she had never pursued John, she would be among those people. She would be a civilian. She could even have been the vessel for a demon. The thought gave her goosebumps. An evil thing controlling her body, killing people, torturing others, and working to bring Hell on Earth… she couldn't imagine a worse existence. It made her own life seem like paradise.

"How you holdin' up?" Bobby asked. Frankie didn't break her gaze from the window as she spurted out the simplest answer she could.

"Fine." Frankie didn't care if it was a lie. As long as she didn't have to go back down that emotional road, she would be content.

"Kid."

She wanted to stay glued to the window, but the firm tone in Bobby's voice pulled her from the glass. She turned her head over to see him looking over to her, seriousness shrouding his eyes.

"How are you _really_ holdin' up?" he asked again. Frankie looked back at him blankly. What was she supposed to tell him? She was freaked out by Armageddon and was still trying to process it while also struggling with her brothers and whether or not she was really cut out to work beside them in the field? No, simply saying she was fine was much easier.

"Look," the man continued, huffing out a sigh as he looked back at the road. "I'm sorry you had to see Sam like that." Frankie internally winced at the memory. "I wish you could still see him as a normal human with normal human problems. We tried keepin' you away from all this, but-"

"I get it," Frankie blurted, voice just a little louder than his own to carry her message. "Bobby, I get it," her volume lowering when she had his attention. "I asked for this. I kept pushing for this. Knowing what I do now is my own fault. Anything I feel over the apocalypse or Sam or demons is my fault. I'd just like to deal with it on my own and look ahead if that's okay."

Bobby was quiet for a moment. Frankie could see that he was glancing over at her in the corner of her eye. "Yeah, that's okay," he finally said, his voice low and careful. "Everyone's got their own way of dealin' with this kind of stuff. But lettin' it fester can have some real bad effects on people." The air went still and awkward. Frankie knew what he was insinuating, but she really didn't want to have a sit down with him and talk about her feelings. That was the last thing she needed. Whether it would help her or not, it would only make herself look weak in their eyes. "I guess what I'm sayin' is that… if you need someone to listen, I'm one of the few people on Earth who will understand."

"I'm fine, Bobby," she clipped. She hadn't meant for her voice to be as touchy as it was, but it got her attitude on the subject across pretty well. It took the man a few long moments to decide that pushing the conversation any further wouldn't result favorably.

"Okay, then," he understandingly uttered with a nod of his head. Frankie knew that he was only making his voice sound okay with leaving the conversation there. She knew that he was worried about how she was dealing with everything she had gone through. And honestly… she was a little worried about it herself.

* * *

They reached town. Bobby parked the truck in front of a small grocery store among a collection of other small shops. When they exited the truck, Frankie intended to follow Bobby right into the grocery store, but another store caught her eye.

Across the street was a small bookstore. A small need to head inside of it grew in Frankie's chest. If there was one place that brought her peace, it was an establishment filled with books, and she needed some damn peace.

"Hey, kid," Bobby called from in front of the grocery store. The girl whipped her head around to him. When she saw him, the peace fled from her. Even though he wasn't the cause of it, he represented the negativity that she had just been through in the past twenty-four hours. She pressed her lips together as she walked up to him.

"Yeah, uh… I was actually thinking of going across the street to that store over there." She pointed behind her at the bookstore. "I've been in the market for some new reads."

"Really?" Bobby said, disbelieving, "I've got lots of books back at my place, y'know. Yer free to read 'em. Well… some."

Frankie faked a smile. "To be honest, Bobby," she began, her pleasant voice just as fake as her smile, "I'd rather not be reminded of the creatures who may wanna rip off my skin for bedroom curtains."

Bobby inhaled a long breath with an understanding expression. "Yeah, you got a point there," he exhaled.

"I just kinda want a… normal story, y'know? So, I'm gunna head over there, okay?"

Bobby nodded his head, a vague suspicion hiding behind his eyes. "Alright. You want anythin'?" he asked while motioning his head towards the store.

' _Soda and Skittles,'_ her mind immediately said. She quickly hushed the voice, though. _'No. We need healthy stuff now. If we're gunna fight against demons, we don't need caffeine and rainbow sugar coursing through our veins.'_

"Just some bottled water is fine. Oh, and maybe some cereal bars. Please."

Bobby gave another nod, and then Frankie was off. She headed towards the store and looked both ways before crossing the street. She had been walking a little faster than she normally did. She couldn't get to the bookstore faster. In her eyes, the faster she got inside, the faster she felt a little relief from the weight of the chaos around her.

When she walked through the door of the shop, she was immediately hit with the familiar smell of books old and new. Her eyes shut in bliss. She loved that smell.

"Evening, ma'am," a young man chimed from the register.

"Evening," she greeted back was a smile, this one not so forced.

"Can I help you find anything today?"

Frankie shook her head as she already headed for the isles of books. "Not today. Another time, maybe, but today I'm just browsing."

"Of course," he idly answered before going back to his own business.

Frankie took her sweet time with examining each rack, each novel. Just as she predicted, she felt calm among the plastic covers and fresh pages, just as much as she was among the old editions. In there, the apocalypse didn't bother her nearly as much as outside. Inside the store, things were simple. Books were books, and she was a bookworm. Nothing more to it.

She walked through the romance section, the historical fiction area, the sci-fi aisle, but she chose to overlook the horror genre. Well, at least she did at first, but she couldn't deny the call to examine at least one section of the aisle. She looked over any book that didn't have the words "angel" or "demon" on it. There was one book, however, that particularly caught her eye.

She picked up a copy of a book titled _Supernatural_ by Carver Edlund. There was a particular reason that she picked up that book and it was because it looked like it belonged more in the romance department. The cover depicted two hulking men, one shirtless and looking an awful lot like Fabio. She shook her head and placed it back on the shelf. She didn't need a tale of two muscular dudes with guns dealing with the supernatural. She had enough of that already.

She kept looking through the store. Nothing really caught her eye. Nothing made her want to stay up to all hours of the night just for one more chapter. That is until she reached a very different section of the store.

She rounded the aisle into the hobbies and skills section. It at first was nothing special, but a book with a cover showing a man in camo holding a knife drew her closer. She walked over to that part of the shelf. Looking at a few surrounding books, she came to the conclusion that they were all about hunting.

' _Huh,'_ she said in her mind. _'That kinda appeals to me.'_

She gazed at the books while crossing her arms. The section was the first that made her consider a purchase. She'll admit it – she didn't know what she was getting into. She may know a thing or two about monsters and demons, but she didn't know the first thing about how to fire a gun or handle a knife. There was much more to it than pulling a trigger or swinging around a blade.

She picked out a book that gave enough info on how to defend with blades of every size – perfect for her machete – and one about the how-to of firing a wide variety of guns. She walked down the aisle to find that it split into another genre. The second half was all about health and fitness.

' _Whuduya know. That appeals to me, too.'_

She was at first a little disappointed. Most of it was about having a healthy diet. _Leafing Behind an Unhealthy Life: A Beginner's Guide to Kale Recipes_ , _Putting Down the Fork, Picking Up the Pace: 100 Ways to Work Your Cardio_ , and _The Quinoa Bible_ were a few notable examples. She wasn't one to roll her eyes at an entire genre of literature, but the past week was all about firsts.

It wasn't until she reached the end of the aisle that she found something actually useful. She spotted a book that was all about working out for the people who couldn't afford constant trips to the gym. Flipping through a few pages, she was met with a few tips that could be converted for use out in the woods, away from Bobby and Dean who would immediately pick up on the fact that she was conditioning for the apocalypse.

She grabbed it and headed to the checkout. The young man greeted her with a smile. "Find everything okay, ma'am?"

Frankie chuckled quietly to herself. "A little too well, if you ask some."

The man ignored the vague response and continued on with his work. As he did so, Frankie examined the contents of the counter. On it was a small display of cheap journals for a few dollars. Frankie looked at one with a sunrise on the cover. The sky was orange on the horizon, but a pale blue above the bright star peaking over the mountains. A faint, content smile sprouted on Frankie's face. There was something about a sunrise that filled her with a positive energy, a hope. She took it off of the display and placed it on the counter beside the others.

"You're a fresh face," the cashier noted aloud. Frankie lifted her gaze up to the stranger scanning her books. "New in town?"

Frankie took in a deep breath and let it out with a nod. "Relatively. I've been here almost a week."

"Just visiting?"

Frankie hesitated before answering with a light sigh. "Hopefully not."

The man didn't respond further to that comment either. He was a good conversationalist. He did, however, comment on her choices of books as he bagged them. "Trying out your hunter's legs?"

"Oh, you have no idea," Frankie deadpanned. It got an ignorant chuckle out of the man.

"Hey, you can learn a lot as a hunter. It's a rewarding hobby."

Frankie nodded with the man. She looked off to the side when she thought about the hunters she knew. "Some I know would think of it more as a job."

The cashier sent Frankie an agreeing smirk. "I like the way your people think."

Frankie nearly went to say something, but she could tell that it would have some pettiness in it. She didn't want to give the effort. The cashier gave her the amount and she paid it with her card. If she had known that she'd find books that would be helpful to her in her current predicament, she would have brought more cash.

"Here you are," huffed the cashier as he handed her the bag of books. "Good luck with your hunting! I know you'll do great!"

Frankie stared at the man. She realized something about the young cashier wishing her luck. He was the only person on the planet who believed in her. Sure, he didn't know that she was planning on hunting ghosts and wendigo, but he did think she would make a great hunter, and that was close enough.

"Thank you," she said with grin. He nodded to her as she turned and exited the store with a newfound determination to do the stranger bookstore cashier proud.

* * *

The drive back to the house was wordless. Bobby could tell that Frankie wasn't in the mood to talk, so he decided to fill in the silence with the radio. Frankie on the other hand was spending the drive over looking out the window and thinking over her plan.

When they finally arrived back to the house, Frankie helped Bobby bring the groceries inside. After that, he was on his own. It wasn't like Frankie wanted nothing to do with Bobby. It was quite the opposite actually. She had been dying to cook with him again, but he had been so busy with researching the seals. This time, though, he insisted that she relax and read her new books, that he would cover dinner. Frankie was reluctant, but ultimately agreed.

So Frankie went to work. She broke out her books, opening up the knife book to the machete section. She opened her journal and got a pen off of the desk. She jotted down any information that seemed useful to her.

\- Machetes are used for chopping and hacking

\- The "bulge" is the area that carries the most force, lead with this

\- When swinging, lead with the elbow and flick the wrist

She made a list of things to keep in mind for using a blade of her size. The book also told her that her machete was Bolo, around fourteen inches. It helped to know a little about the weapon you were using.

When she was finished scanning through her book on knives, she moved on to the fitness book. Around this time, the air was filled with the smell of Bobby's cooking. It made thinking healthy really difficult.

She flipped to a new page of her journal, having written a page's worth of machete tips, and began noting ways to turn the forest into her own person gym. She made a note to use variously sized rocks as medicine balls and using logs as dumbbells. The book also mentioned that hiking and running were ways to work cardio and strengthen leg muscles, two things that would have worked in her favor battling the demons.

Halfway through her notes for her outdoor gym, Bobby came into the study and set a TV tray down next her. She lifted her head up in time to see the man set her food down on the tray before walking back into the kitchen. She was confused. She was about to question why he wanted to isolate himself from her, but he shortly came back into the room to drop off his own plate on his desk.

He sat himself down and took a few bites out of his food before delving back into his research. Frankie was relieved. She knew she had been standoffish, but she hoped she wasn't coming off as too bitchy. Bobby's decision to eat together while doing their own individual studying let her know that he wasn't going to push her for a conversation or an obligation to talk about how bad things were, and instead just wanted to get back to work.

Frankie gave a small sigh in relief before eating some of the meal and continuing her studying.

* * *

Frankie woke up to a furious beeping from below her. She groaned, tired and annoyed as she reached over to the nightstand to look for the alarm clock. She felt a lamp, her phone, and her journal before finally feeling the noisy clock. She gave it a hard smack and turned off the terrible sound.

She growled at her drowsy state as she lifted her head to look out the window. Dark. The sun had yet to wake up. She puffed out a breath of air, blowing the strands of hair curtaining her face.

She had to get used to waking up early now. If she was going to get anywhere with her training, she had to wake up before the sky did. She angrily pushed herself to sit up on the bed and throw off the covers. She swung her legs off the bed and onto the floor, rubbing her face to wake it up. It was hard. She wasn't much of a morning person.

She reluctantly stood up and turned on the lamp. She then snatched her bag and took out a tank top and jeans. After changing into her clothes, she headed into the bathroom to pull what little hair there as to work with up into a ponytail with her toothbrush in her mouth. One had to multitask these days.

With her hair up, however, Frankie had a full view of her ear. She froze when her eyes landed on it. It was uglier than the last time she saw it. It made her nauseous to stare at it the way she was and she considered covering it up, but she decided that everything would be solved if she just didn't look at it. Well, that was the momentary solution anyway.

Once her hygiene was taken care of, Frankie reached under the sink for the first aid kit and took out some bandages. She began wrapping her hand and wrist into a compress to avoid any further injury to it while she trained.

With a shake of her head to wake herself up even more, she went to grab her stuff to head out and start her personal training, but she realized that she didn't have a proper bag to carry it all in. She didn't fret. There had to be some extra bags in the house. When she opened the guest room's closet, she found a worn backpack. It had frayed stitches and ripped fabric. Oh well. It was fine with Frankie.

She stuffed her journal, books, and machete into the bag before heading downstairs. When she reached the kitchen, she stopped and put a few bottles of water into her bag. She then took a page out of her journal and wrote a note for Bobby.

 _Went for a hike through the woods for a bit._

 _Be back for lunch._

 _~ Frankie_

It was placed on the fridge by a magnet in full view for him when he woke up. After that, Frankie was heading out the door to begin her training as a hunter, grabbing a few cereal bars on her way out of course.


	15. Chapter 14 - Train

**A/N: Okay, so this is LONG overdue. I am so incredibly sorry that this is a week late. I was celebrating my birthday last weekend and was out of town for most of it. If it's any consolation, this chapter was going to be about 3,000 words shorter so... call it a late birthday present! As always, I can't thank you enough for the continuous support.**

 **Also something to remember: while some of this story includes cannon moments, there are a lot of non-cannon instances involving the timeline. Understand that the timeline in TaaHW is set back about a week or so. Okay. That's it. Thank you for your beautiful time.**

 **UPDATE (11-11-18): I am sorry to say that there will not be a chapter this week. While I had every intention to update, my family and I have been through a lot this week. We have been faced with a tragic passing in our family, and so I haven't had it in me to finish the chapter. I promise there will be one next week if y'all can hold on. Thank you for understanding. - Hannah**

* * *

With each pant, a fresh cloud of cold air entered her lungs. While painful at first, it began to get more refreshing and helped toward blocking out the throbbing pain that her chest and legs were screaming out. Frankie wasn't used to running, so she had lessened her pace into a jog, but it still had a negative effect on her weak body.

"It's for my own good, it's for my own good, it's for my own good," she chanted as she jogged through the woods. It was true and not just so she could condition herself to be a better hunter. Frankie had come to realize that she was lacking greatly in self-care.

She had known since a very young age that she was an ailing person. Even as a child she got sick more than other kids. However, when she learned that she was in high risk to get cysts in her body, she simply stopped caring. She knew there was nothing she could do to stop it from happening, so she didn't try to take care of herself.

She drank alcohol, ate incredibly unhealthy food, refused to exercise, and she lost her will to put up an effort. Upon meeting Sam and Dean, however, things changed drastically. When she learned about hunting and decided she wanted to do it, too, she knew that she had to have a more mature mindset. She couldn't just sit on the couch, read a few books, and suddenly become a hunter. It was a physical job, so in order to get to where she needed to be, she would shove aside the pain she was feeling so she could be the hunter she knew she could be.

She reached her workout site from the day before. Once she set her eyes on the minuscule clearing under the awning of branches and leaves, her jogs turned into exhausted stomps. Huffing heavily, she plopped herself down onto the rock next to the creek and yanked a water bottle out of her backpack. She practically drowned herself in cold water until she caught her breath and took deeper breaths to calm down.

While she cooled down, Frankie took out her sunrise journal and opened it to her itinerary. She scanned it while removing a cereal bar from the backpack and began munching on it. She had a rather tiring workout ahead of her, but she continuously told herself that it was worth it.

Once her heart began beating at a normal pace and her cereal bar was merely crumbs, Frankie hopped off of the rock and walked around the vicinity of the clearing. She looked around for decently size rocks that she could use as medicine balls. Her fitness book said that tossing them around will work her back, chest, legs, arms, shoulders, and core, so it was a definite exercise on her list.

She found three that she could lift above her waist. They were rather small, but she reminded herself that she would be able to lift larger boulders in a week or two. She wondered if she would even make it to then, but she shook her head away from thoughts of the apocalypse in exchange for a sharp focus on her next mode of action.

"Okay," she huffed, grabbing her journal on the mossy rock. "What's next?" She placed her finger on the page and dragged it down the list to her next mode of action. "Right. Stretches." She placed the notebook back on the boulder and walked on an area with even ground. "Can't forget to stretch," she announced aloud while giving an arm a shoulder stretch. It felt good with her still aching muscles from yesterday's pull up attempts. She gave that branch another glare. "I'm gunna get you," she warned it.

She stretched her shoulders, traps, triceps, and then touched her toes to stretch her legs and back. She even went the extra measure to rest each leg on the sitting rock to make sure they were nice and limber. After stretching, she was ready to begin her work out.

She started with the rocks. Her notes told her to throw up and out to really work the muscles. She picked up one of the rocks, huffing out a puff of air at the weight of the rock. While she could lift it, it was still heavy. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to steady herself. She could do this.

Opening her eyes, she did as the notes said and threw the rock like a basketball, up and out. The moment the weight left her arms, a surge of exhaustion rippled up her arms into her core. An unholy noise that resembled a mixture of a sick elephant and an irritable cow left her throat. The throw took a lot out of her, but she had to admit that it was pretty fun to watch the rock soar through the air and thud against the ground. She would have rather had it go farther than a couple feet in front of her, but she again reminded herself that it would get better with time.

She rested a minute in between her tosses. She did a few sets of it until her arms couldn't take it anymore. She thought that four sets of three tosses were good for one day. She placed the rocks in a designated pile next to the pullup tree for the next day's work out.

Referring to her notes, the next thing to do was work on her machete skills. Excitement bubbled in her stomach. She had been looking forward to working with her blade since she killed the demon back at Jimmy's house. Pushing back the negative memories of the night, she retrieved the machete from the backpack and walked around the vicinity again.

Similar to looking for rocks, Frankie was searching for fallen tree limbs to practice chopping with. It was important to find limbs skinny enough for her to lift. This was because she wasn't just practicing her chopping. She was going to chop limbs into makeshift barbells to use for the next exercise.

She found a nicely sized limb lying on the ground. It wasn't too damp and she would be able to lift it over her head easily enough. She sat on her legs in front of the limb and pulled it closer to her body. In front of the limb, there were rocks that she rested her open journal on. It was turned to the page of machete facts and tips.

"Okay. What we got here?" she murmured to herself, clutching the handle of the machete. The first of the tips was on how to properly handle the blade. She referred back to the notes. The book on blades told her that one of the best ways to handle a machete was to use a "pinch grip." This was supposed to give her a firm but also loose hold on it and also decreased the amount of blisters.

"'Hold the handle firmly with your thumb and index finger at the top of the handle, curling your other fingers loosely underneath them.' Okay, done. 'This will make flicking the blade easier.' Cool. Got it."

Frankie moved her wrist and arm around to feel the weight of the blade. While she did this, she watched her wrist work with the machete to see if it looked right, but when she did this, she noticed something about the weapon that she hadn't before.

Narrowing her brows, she brought the weapon closer and closely examined the black handle of the weapon. It was hard to see, but there seemed to be some symbols on the handle. She brushed her fingers over the areas and felt tiny indentions, like that of an etching, but only slightly. Whatever markings were on there were gingerly placed. But it wasn't the way the symbols felt that mattered, it was what they were and who put them there.

Did her mother carve the symbols into them, or did she buy the machete from someone who did? She wasn't sure which one was more concerning.

She tried to make out what the symbols were, but they were strange and hard to spot. She reeled her mind for a moment, tapping her fingers against the handle, until she had a spark of an idea. She looked up and reached for her journal. She turned to a blank page and set it on top of the handle. She then took her pencil and sketched over the symbols to make them appear on the page.

The symbols came up clearly on the page, but it didn't help her much. She didn't recognize them. She really should have studied more than just cryptids. The first thought to come to her was to show them to Bobby. He seemed to know a lot about them. However, she didn't know if she should. What if he _did_ know what the symbols meant and took away the machete? And then another thought came to her mind.

What if that was a good thing?

Frankie glanced at the sleek, silver blade in her lap. Sure, it was her mother's – and, due to inheritance, hers – but she had been having passing thoughts about her lately. She thought she knew her so well, but it seemed like there was a separate side to her that she never showed. The machete was enough proof. What if the machete was dangerous even for Bobby, Sam, and Dean? What if it did more than just kill demons?

The uncertainty made her head spin, but she didn't come out to the woods to worry about the weights of her life at the pressing moment. She came to train herself. She tucked the page of symbols away into the journal and turned back to the tips page.

She did as the notes said. She held it the way the books instructed and flicked her wrist into the limb, leading with the elbow. She would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the feeling of the blade sinking into the wood, hearing the dull thud of splintering bark. It was a satisfying feeling that almost soothed her. She cut through one end and then cut through the other one, getting herself used to the resistance and give of the blade against a surface.

Once she had a log cut into a barbell, she didn't stop chopping. She stood up, held the machete firmly in her hand and pretended like a narrow tree was a monster. She practiced chopping for the neck and swinging across the stomach area. It took some getting used to, and she would definitely need to work on her form, but she was enjoying the progress she was making with how natural her swings were starting to feel.

After some practice, she ended her machete training and placed it back into her backpack. She took a small break to enjoy another cereal bar and bottle of water. The next part of her workout was the last. She just needed to work on some basic lunges, squats, and presses with the limb and then she would jog all the way back to Bobby's house to research what those symbols meant.

Once she actually picked up the limb, though, things didn't seem so simple. She fell backwards into the dirt on the first lift. It knocked all of the air out of her lungs with a resounding, "Oof!" from the girl. A few birds flew off at the loud exclamation. Suddenly, her muscles decided to weaken and tingled with exhaustion with every tiny movement. Come to think of it, it was a lot to do on her first day, but her momma didn't raise no bitch.

She lay on her back, relaxing for a moment to rest the body she was pushing so hard, all the while a hefty tree limb weighing on her chest. After a while, she almost didn't feel it. She had to admit, lying there on her back in the woods with the creek trickling and the leaves blowing in the background created a serene atmosphere.

She opened her eyes to watch whatever clouds she could see through the leaves pass by. She thought about how beautiful and calm the space was around her. In Bobby's house, everything was negative. It had been filled with Sam's screams and Dean's anger. In Bobby's truck, things were so quiet and awkward. He wanted to push to talk about her feelings, but she knew she would appear as weaker than she already was.

But out there in the woods, in that one small clearing where she trained to be a better version of herself, she was calm. She hadn't been that peaceful in so long. It was a wonderful feeling, and she almost didn't want to go back to the house, but she told Bobby that she would be back by lunch.

With a sigh, she adjusted the grip of her hands on the limb to be lined up with her shoulders. It took some work and some force, but she was able to lift it high enough to fully extend her arms. They were both shaking at the elbows, which made it hard to keep steady as she slowly brought it back down, but letting out a few puffy breaths, she was able to steadily bring the limb back down to her chest to complete one press. Despite the effort to do one press, she was proud of herself.

She aimed for ten, but she could barely do five. She thought that it would be enough for one day, but she stopped that thought. The image of Sam and Dean came to mind. Would they have quit at a set of five? Hell no. They would have gone the full ten. "No," she panted out. "I can do this. I can do this." With a few readying nods to herself, she caught her breath, gripped the limb hard, and pushed against the limb. Her arms burned to high hell, but she refused to quit.

"God… dammit! Stupid… fucking… log!" she snarled through clenched teeth. She knew she was pushing herself too hard, but if she was ever going to be as good as her brothers she needed to start pushing herself passed her breaking point.

She had to stop and collect herself in between presses, and it took quite a bit of screaming and growling, but she made it to ten presses. She almost didn't make it right at the end when her arms nearly collapsed as she was bringing down the last one, but she caught herself before it crushed her.

Frankie threw the infernal limb off of her and continued lying there on the ground for a while longer. Her arms ached and she just knew that they would be impossible to move the next day. On the bright side, her wrist was rather painless. Perhaps it was just the pain in the rest of her arms that was blocking out the aching in the wrist, but she decided to think against that theory.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting for her arms to steady, she picked herself up and stood to her feet. Her arms continued to shake and tingle, but she saw that as a good sign, one that meant that she was slowly getting stronger.

Knowing good and well that she couldn't pick the limb up if she tried, Frankie decided to save the other exercises for the next day. Besides, she felt fulfilled for the day. After collecting her journal and backpack, Frankie rolled her worked shoulders before picking up a jog back to Bobby's house.

Despite the pain, Frankie felt like she did something good for herself. She was feeling healthy already… even if that feeling originated from exhaustion and pain. Pain aside, the day's workout put her in a good mood. She felt so joyous, in fact, that she hummed the Rocky theme song all the way back to the house. By the time she saw the house in the distance, she had stopped her humming and replaced it with full on belting the song along with all its instrumentals.

"Gunna fly now! … Flyin' high now!"

She finally quieted down the cheery music when she reached Bobby's backyard, slowing her jogging into a walk. Frankie wiped the sweat from her brow as she looked at the house. She felt dread walking up to it. She would only be met with reminders everywhere of the apocalypse. And who knew what mood Bobby would be in? Frankie didn't think she could take another silent dinner with him, even if it was nice to study with him.

A loud crash came from inside the house. Frankie stilled, her head snapping up to gaze at the back door. She had just stepped foot on the stairs when she heard clatters and thuds coming from the half-open kitchen window. Her curious and worrisome nature immediately kicked in, already thinking of the worst possible origins for the sudden noise.

"You stupid, stupid sonnuva bitch!" Bobby angrily yelled. Frankie was taken aback by the furious tone of his voice. She hurriedly moved to the door. "Well boo- _hoo_! I am so sorry yer feelin's are hurt, _princess_!" And then she stopped. It sounded like he was talking to somebody. "Are you under the impression that family's supposed to make you feel good? Bake you an apple pie maybe? _They're supposed to make you miserable, that's why they're family_!" Despite being away from him, the enraged sound in Bobby's voice struck fear into Frankie.

"I told him 'you walk out that door, don't come back,' and he _walked_ out anyway! That was his choice!"

Frankie stilled. That was Dean. Apparently he was back. But it didn't sound like Sam was with him.

Not wanting to interrupt the heated argument – and risk getting yelled at by Bobby, too – Frankie quietly moved over to the kitchen window to see if she could get a view of the situation.

"You sound like a whiny brat," Bobby snapped. From where Frankie was looking inside, she could see Dean walk across the study to the window. And just like she feared, Sam wasn't with him. "No. You sound like your dad."

Frankie's breathing seemed to stop altogether at the mention of the man. John? What about John?

"Well let me tell you somethin'. Your dad was a _coward_."

Frankie's head jerked back in surprise. John a coward? From what her mom told her, he was quite the opposite… but then again, her mother did seem to keep things from her.

Dean paused before slowly turning around to face Bobby with quite the sassy glare. "My dad was a lot of things, Bobby, but a coward?"

"He'd rather push Sam away than reach out to him. Well that don't strike me as brave." Frankie lingered her eyes on Bobby's heated form. That didn't strike her as brave either. It left her to wonder, if they met would John have pushed her away, too? "You are a better man than your daddy ever was. So you do both of us a favor. Don't be him."

The two fell into a contemplative silence, leaving Frankie to pick up the pieces of what was going on. Apparently Dean couldn't get Sam to come back, and that was a _bad thing_. Sam was a loose cannon of pent up aggression. Who knew what kind of trouble he was getting into, especially with that demon friend of his? Frankie now had a brand new reason to feel anxious.

Frankie waited for things to simmer down before making her presence known. She walked inside and placed her backpack down next to the door. At the sound of her entering, Bobby and Dean masked that they had just been arguing. There was an air of hesitation before Bobby walked into the kitchen to meet her.

"Enjoy yer hike?" he asked. Frankie could tell that he was trying to hide the agitation from the arguing in his voice, but not well. Nonetheless, she wore a contented expression, putting on a fresh face to hopefully lighten the mood in the house.

"Yeah. I needed it, too. Want some lunch?"

She saw on Bobby's face that he was relieved of her ignorance. Little did he know that it was a façade. "You go on ahead. We've got stuff fer sandwiches in the fridge."

"Okay. Thanks," Frankie responded, but Bobby had already turned around and headed for his desk in the study. Watching him walk into the adjacent room led Frankie's gaze to Dean, who was now sitting on the couch. Unlike Bobby, he didn't hide the tiresome glare from the argument. Frankie smiled to him nonetheless. "Hi, Dean," she greeted with a small wave. He merely nodded once in her direction.

Frankie hated the tension between them all. Oddly enough, things seemed better back when she didn't know what hunters were. At least then they tried to hide how bad things were.

Frankie made herself a sandwich and ate it in discomfort. Bobby was silent as he sifted through the papers on his desk and Dean mostly looked out the window until he finally walked out onto the porch for a while. Frankie sighed through her nose as she chewed. How were they going to fix this?

Once Frankie was finished with lunch, she headed upstairs to take a shower. She needed one, especially after accumulating all the sweat that clung to her body. Once she settled herself under the warm water of the showerhead, the stress in her shoulders melted away.

Now that she had time to think about it, she hadn't taken a shower since she had been staying in the motel room, which was around five or six days ago. That was disgusting. It was a wonder how she hadn't stank up the house yet.

Halfway into her shower, the worries came flooding back as she was left with only her thoughts. Dean couldn't get Sam to come back. Sam was drowning himself in demon blood. He was in cahoots with a demon and he was trying to go after Lilith to stop the apocalypse. And on top of it all, John was apparently a coward. What else could go wrong?

Frankie knew, she just knew, that she and Bobby should have gone after Sam with Dean. Maybe Bobby could have talked some sense into him along with Dean. He couldn't say no to both of them, right?

What were they going to do? How were they going to get Sam back now? They had to help him, or else he would kill himself. She didn't want to lose him. But what could she do?

' _Stick to your training. Just stick to your training. That's all you can do right now.'_

Her thoughts were right. At that moment, she was powerless and less than useful. The only position she had in the war for Earth was to train. And hey, maybe Sam would get lucky and actually kill Lilith.

Just… maybe. Maybe was the best she could do.

Frankie didn't want to have to stay in a silent study all day, so she made herself busy around the house. She did her laundry and even added some of Bobby's to the pile as well. As the clothes washed, Frankie then made her way into the kitchen to wash the dishes left in the sink.

As she entered the room, she made a passing glance into the study to find Bobby gone. She was sort of relieved. She really didn't want to have to feel the resonating stress from him. She already had too much for herself.

However, the calming atmosphere of scrubbing plates and pots with soap, the smell of lavender masking the putrid odor of festering, unwashed dishes, created a soothing aura in the midst of looming anxiety. Most people frowned upon doing household chores, but to Frankie they were the only things she could rely on to be simple and orderly tasks. Washing dishes in the kitchen was just so peaceful.

That is until she heard footsteps entering the room accompanied by a throat clearing.

"Hey," the rough voice of Dean heralded behind her. Frankie turned her head to look over her shoulder at the tired man.

"Hi," she said back with an attempted smile. She turned her head back into the sink, silently hoping that he was just coming in to get a beer from the fridge and leave. Frankie really didn't want to have an awkward conversation about the last time they were in each other's company, and she _especially_ didn't want to discuss her feelings on the matter.

Her hope of him leaving were crushed when she heard the sound of a chair scooting and a weight creaking the wood. The man sniffed before speaking up again. "Where'd you run off to today?"

Frankie momentarily closed her eyes in exhaustion. Was it going to be one of _those_ conversations? "Just went for a walk."

"You were gone for hours," Dean deadpanned. "That's a pretty long walk."

Frankie lowered the plate she was scrubbing as she lifted her gaze out the window. She hadn't thought that she was gone for that long, but she believed it. She hummed as she went back to cleaning. "Suppose it was."

"Did it have anything to do with Bobby? I know he can be rough sometimes, but-"

"It had nothing to do with Bobby," Frankie coolly interrupted, turning to look back at Dean. "I just wanted to go for a walk, okay? I wanted to get away for a while." Frankie held her gaze on Dean before finally turning back to the sink. "Can you blame me?" she clipped.

She really shouldn't have been so testy with Dean, but she couldn't help the fact that seeing him brought up memories from that night that she previously forgot. When she looked at Dean, all she saw was the look on his face as he held down Sam, as he looked at her looking at him hold down Sam. Whatever good mood exercising brought her was ruined.

"Yeah… about that night…," he sighed.

' _Oh, here we go.'_

"About Sam and everything," he continued. Frankie sighed and lowered the bowl in her hands into the sink. "How you holdin' up?"

She was dreading this. She just knew that he and Bobby would try and ask about her feelings and if she was doing okay. Sure, it was probably good natured and they were just thinking about her wellbeing, but she was already a weak little girl. She didn't need to seem like an emotionally vulnerable weak little girl.

"Fine," she answered.

"No you're not."

Frankie whipped her head around to shoot him a flustered glare. "I'm not?"

Dean quirked an eyebrow into his own confused look. "I was there. I saw you. You ran away, for God's sake." Dean momentarily gave an exasperated look at his own wording. "We looked for you for hours, and you didn't show up until the next day." Dean lowered his eyebrow to narrow both of them above his intense eyes. "That's not fine."

Frankie glared into those piercing eyes. She wasn't wavered by their intensity, and instead was only angered by them. She didn't need Dean to tell her that she was so freaked out by her brother having a demon blood- induced seizure that she ran away from the terrifying scene.

"Well I guess I'm not fine then," she sarcastically remarked. "Thanks for clearing that up."

"Look, can you cut the snarky bull for a second?" Frankie was taken aback by the sudden irritation in his voice. "If I wanna talk to a cranky hick, I'll go talk to Bobby."

"What do you want, Dean?" Frankie bit back, her voice dripping with frustration. "I'm in here doing dishes and you wanna have a sit down about my feelings? Did you stop to wonder if I had any regarding that night?"

"A normal person would have 'em. Of course I'd wonder." Frankie huffed through her nose. "Look, there's no need to get pissy with me. I just wanted to help. You can't just let feelings like that stay locked up."

Frankie raked her soaked hands through her hair before continuing. "Well fine then."

She tossed the sponge in her hands into the pile of dirty dishes and fully turned around to face Dean. "I was terrified that night. Hell, I was borderline manic. But honestly, I just wanna forget about it. I don't wanna think about how scared I was to see Sam like he was. I don't wanna think about how fucked we are. And I _don't_ wanna stand here and have to discuss my feelings to someone who will look at me as a weaker species because of it. All I wanna do is forget about that night and look ahead. I wanna hold my chin up, I wanna look ahead with confidence, and most importantly I wanna do these fuckin' dishes before they stink up the whole goddamn kitchen."

Without another word, let alone another second looking at the man, Frankie pivoted around to the sink and continued to wash the soapy bowls. She scrubbed the dishes even harder than before in an attempt to scrub away the frustration brewing in her mind.

"Weaker species?"

"Just… forget it," Frankie softly bit, stopping any further statement on the subject. It seemed to do the trick in shutting him up, as he didn't press any further on the matter.

After a long while, Frankie let out a heavy sigh, setting aside a clean bowl onto the towel to drip dry along with the other dishes. It wasn't until she was already washing away at a plate when she noticed Dean approach to stand beside her. She snapped her head up to him, brows still furrowed in a glare despite not being angry anymore.

She had just begun to ask why he was standing next to her when he took a cloth out of a drawer and commenced drying off the cleaned dishes. Frankie looked him over in confusion, and he noticed this.

He looked down at her with a placid expression. "This job sucks alone."

Frankie further narrowed her brows at the man. "So suddenly to help out. Makes me wonder if you have anything else to do." When Dean didn't budge, Frankie assumed he just wasn't going to leave. She could at least admire him not starting something else up, though. "Course I don't really think of washing dishes as a job," she noted, trying for a different attitude. "I kinda even enjoy it."

"Don't see why," Dean answered with a disgusted look into the sink. "It smells, it takes too long, you never know what's soaking at the bottom, your fingers start lookin' like Michael Caine's neck…"

"I didn't even think you knew who Michael Caine was."

"Oh, c'mon. _Alfred_? You gotta give me _some_ credit." He shook his head as he went back to drying. "Whuduya see in washing dishes anyway?"

Frankie lifted an eyebrow up at him. "You really want me to stand here and explain why I like doing chores?"

Dean quirked his head to the side for a moment before looking down at the plate he was drying. "We got time to kill."

Frankie watched the man closely. His mouth told her to fill in the awkward silence, but the face behind his mask told her that he wanted to get away from all the negative shit they were going through. She couldn't agree more.

They had been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours. Dean couldn't get Sam to come back. She was in a state lost between hysterical paranoia and the lack of given fucks for anything going on. Needless to say a little calm conversation on the joys of cleaning dishes was an acceptable push in the right direction.

After a moment to think, she shrugged one of her shoulders with a sigh. "Just because something seems like a taxing job, that doesn't mean you can't find the light side of it. Washing dishes… it's a routine. Here's the dishes, here's the soap, the sponge, you clean it, you dry it, you put it away. Repeat." Frankie held a saucepan in her hands and turned it so her reflection shined in it. "In a world where things are constantly changing… at least washing dishes stays the same."

She placed the saucepan on the drying towel and picked up a fork from the bottom of the sink. "Calm down there Confucius," Dean chuckled. Frankie snapped her head up to the amused man.

"You told me to tell you why I liked washing!" she defiantly argued.

"Well, yeah, but I thought you would say that you, like, enjoyed the smell of soap or something. Didn't know you prepared an entire poem about it."

"Shut up," she clipped. Though behind the annoyance at his teasing, a small smile formed on Frankie's face at her brother. At least he wasn't brooding. For now, at least.

"But seriously," he added, his hearty attitude now shifted back to serious. Frankie's almost smile faded in the blink of an eye, the hopeful idea of a nice moment between her and Dean snuffed. "I really appreciate you helpin' Bobby around the house. Y'know cleaning and movin' stuff around so he knows where to find 'em." The girl's eyes widened a bit at his words. He was actually praising her for something?

"When Bobby gets in these studying riffs… well he kinda forgets that he's human sometimes. Y'know, he forgets to eat, forgets to sleep, doesn't clean up or bathe." Frankie scrunched up her nose at that, but then un-scrunched it when she realized her lack of showering in previous days. "But having you around to help him cook and clean and stuff, it helps him a lot. And it reminds him that he has someone around he needs to keep tabs on." Dean cocked his head to the side in thought as he placed a dried fork in a drawer. "In a way, you remind him of his humanity. And right now… that's a small victory in a whole lot'a losses."

Frankie gawked at Dean. She hadn't seen this side of him. He had never genuinely praised her for something, and she really liked the feeling. It woke up a yearning feeling in her gut, one that told her to keep doing him proud, whatever it took. She honestly didn't know how to properly respond to him at that moment. She simply went with her instincts.

She nudged his arm with her shoulder. "Calm down, Confucius," she mocked with a slight smirk.

Dean squeezed out a small laugh from the depths of his throat. "Alright, smartass. Too preachy?"

Frankie sent him a smug grin before going back to her work. "Just the right amount, actually."

* * *

Once the dishes were all cleaned and put away, Dean left the kitchen to go out back. Apparently he enjoyed the idea of a walk, too. With Bobby out in the garage – according to Dean – and her brother enjoying his solitude, Frankie took on the task of cooking by herself. She didn't complain, though. Her little chat with Dean was just enough to calm her for a while. A little solitude for herself was warmly welcomed.

She decided to prepare some beef hash with green beans and mac and cheese. It was a simple enough dinner for the three of them, and she got it done with little hassle thanks to figuring out where everything was in the kitchen.

Frankie very much liked the position of house caretaker. It wasn't hunting or saving people or badass or anything, but it was something. She'd just have to do what she did and _find_ the badassery in it. After all, without her, lives were at stake. Well… at least their hunger was.

While cooking and cleaning went by enjoyably, dinner was a different story. When she called the two men into the house for dinner like an 1800s farmer's wife, the air shifted to that of stiff and touchy.

Bobby and Dean still held their tense attitudes, and therefore strayed away from talking to each other, lest they bring up anything to do with Sam. The two thanked Frankie, of course, for dinner and commented on the quality of it, and she thanked them back for the complements, but there was no more conversing after that.

Frankie wanted to butt in. She wanted to speak up through the silence about the weather and how she saw a blue jay out in the woods earlier, but the tension in the air kept her small talk at bay until dinner was over.

The dishes made their way back into the sink to do the next day and the leftovers went either into Dean's mouth or in the fridge. After that, the three went their separate ways.

Once everything was put away, Frankie stifled a yawn and headed for the stairs, but she noticed on her way over there that Dean was settling himself on the couch for bed. Knowing good and well that she kicked him out of the guest room, her guilty nature urged her to offer it back.

"Hey, do you want the guest room?" she frantically offered as she walked over to Dean. He had just placed the pillow behind his head when she came over.

Once he registered her question, he closed his eyes as he draped the patched quilt over himself. "Like you said. You're stayin' here, so you get the guest room."

Frankie felt a warmth in her chest at his kindness. Or was it just him being rational? Her stuff was already up there. It would just be extra work to bring it down only for him to have her bring it back up there the next time he was out of town. Whatever the reason, she thanked him and went upstairs to have a surprisingly quick slumber.

* * *

"Fuck. You."

The alarm annoyingly pierced the sanctity of her fading dreams. She slammed a fist on top of the infernal thing to make the headache stop. Once the noise finally stopped, she quickly realized that it wasn't just her head that ached.

 _Everything_ ached.

She couldn't even move her arms, and if she tried sitting up, she would have snapped in half. Oh how she wanted to stay in bed all day and forget about the soreness she was going through! That, however, was not the Winchester way, unfortunately.

She forced herself to bite back the pain and started her morning routine. She stretched out her pained muscles, put on her fresh-smelling clothes, and took care of her morning hygiene, once again ignoring the presence of her ear. On the bright side, at least the bruise under her eye was barely visible. In the right light, it wasn't even there.

Frankie scratched her pulled back hair as she headed down the stairs, but it seemed like she remembered last minute that there was someone sleeping down there. She froze midway down the staircase, snapping her head over into the study where Dean was asleep on the couch. At least she hoped he was asleep. She _had_ been stepping pretty loudly, but he didn't seem to stir.

Carefully this time, she stepped all the way down the stairs and headed straight for the kitchen, avoiding the study altogether. Again, Frankie went through her new morning routine and took two water bottles out of the fridge. The hard part was opening up the backpack. Placing the bottles and cereal bars wouldn't be much of an issue, but _opening_ the bag was a problem.

When she slowly tried for unzipping the bag, a screeching noise straight from the depths of Hell greeted her. She clenched her eyes and teeth hard, hanging onto a fleeting hope that Dean didn't wake up and hear her going out for her forbidden training session.

Not a sound was heard from the study, but that didn't necessarily mean anything when it came to Dean. He was a professional when it came to things like being quiet. You had to be in his line of work. That was something Frankie definitely needed to work on.

She finally got the loud thing open and shoved the food and water inside, hurrying out of the house faster than she could cause any more noise in it. Only after she was safely outside did she close the bag with an even louder zip. She let out a relieved sigh.

' _That wasn't as bad as it could've been,'_ she optimistically thought.

She picked up her morning jog to the workout grounds. The first jog was her favorite part of her new routine. She got to watch the sunrise. It was always her favorite part of the day. The way the gold reflected off of the fluttering leaves above and how the dewy grass at the edges of the path glistened in the light could only be described as utter bliss.

Frankie reached her clearing and started her routine. She cooled down, stretched, tossed the rocks, cooled down some more, and got to work with her machete. This time, however, she worked on the machete for so long that her first blister formed. She cursed it, and then she blessed it. It was the first sign of hard work. She even went as far as kissing it and going right back to work, relishing in the pain it caused. It meant she was doing a good job.

The only difference in her routine was her work with the barbell-limb. Instead of presses, she would lift it above her head, lower it to rest on her shoulders, and work her legs by performing lunges and squats. She considered it a leg day.

Once again, picking up the limb proved to be an issue. Her arms were still sore, but with all of her might, she was able to lift it to her chest. She cheated a little and ducked her head under the limb instead of lifting it over. Sometimes cutting corners was needed.

By the time her lunges and squats were done with, she was just about ready to collapse. In fact, she did. She huffed as she sat on the ground and flopped onto her back. She was completely winded. She could totally see how she spent hours out there.

Now it was the time in her routine to lie back and relax after a hard day's workout. The sky wasn't as pretty as yesterday, though. About the time when she finished tossing the rocks around, dark clouds filled the sky. She could smell the looming rain coming and welcomed it. Rain would have felt wonderful at that moment.

With a sigh, Frankie sat up from lying on the ground. She gave her arms a stretch before getting up and heading over to the sitting rock where her water was. She took off the cap while humming the Rocky theme under her breath again as she drank her water. She idly looked around at her little fitness area. She was proud of herself. Well, that was until she laid her eyes on that branch.

Oh that _branch_. She hated it. She couldn't do one pullup and yet she was able to do all of the other stuff. Of course, she was able to do that through sheer will. Perhaps now that she knew she could do the other things, she would be able to do a pullup now. It was crazy, but it just might work.

She placed her bottle down and stood in front of the branch. With a smug cock of her head, she swung her arms and leaped for the branch. Her hands grabbed it and she swung there for a moment before going to work.

No surprise, she wasn't moving. At least at first. Through sheer will alone, she was pulling herself higher, though her arms were screaming for her to stop. They burned as she pulled herself higher and higher each second. She could feel a single drop of sweat streaking down her cheek. She felt another sweat drop travel across her knuckles.

But after the drop traveled to her other hand, she knew it wasn't sweat. Her eyes snapped open, her growls ceased. She lifted her head to look at her hands only to see a spider crawling along them.

"Fuck!" she squealed. Her hands immediately released their grip, sending her plummeting down to the ground below. The air was knocked out of her lungs on impact. She quickly sucked in a breath and brought her hands up to her chest, rubbing them and the chills from her stinging body.

She lay there panting from the momentarily terrifying situation. That could have gone so much better if it weren't for the damn spider, or at least that's what Frankie told herself.

Suddenly, Dean's upside-down face replaced the image of the clouds and leaves above her. "Woah!" she exclaimed, holding her chest. His sudden presence made her heart skip a beat. Was that day going to be filled with possible heart attacks?

"You're gunna kill yourself. You know that right?"

Now knowing that he was really there and not some hallucination from her exhaustion, Frankie scurried to her feet and backed away from the man, horrified. He wasn't supposed to know what she was doing out there. How much had he seen?

"W-What are you doing here?! You were-… you're supposed to be asleep!" she stammered. Dean merely stood in front of her with crossed arms, a slightly amused look about him.

"Yeah, but the funny thing is that sometimes people wake up."

Frankie narrowed her brows into a glare. "You heard me coming down the stairs didn't you?"

"Loud and clear."

"Shit." Frankie stepped back and placed her hands on her head. How was she supposed to get out of this now? She had only worked out for two days and she was already caught. "Look" she sighed, now facing him with a pleading expression, "I can explain this. I can. It's not what it looks like, I swear."

Dean sighed, stepping forward. "Frankie-"

"Okay, it maybe is what it looks like, but it's not for the reason you think! I'm just… I'm, uh… uh, fuck, uh…"

"Frankie," Dean said, louder this time.

"Kidneys! My kidneys! I'm exercising because doctors say that-that exercise is good for ailing kidneys, a-a-and you see? That's what I'm doing!" Frankie's words shifted from pleading to hopelessly chuckling with every word. She also started mimicking each action she listed off. "Y'know? Throwing rocks, choppin' trees, liftin' limbs, hardly working out really!"

" _Hey_ ," Dean tried again, stepping closer to the hysterical girl.

"And I'm not really getting stronger either, so yeah. I can just stop if you want me to. I really can. Just say the word and I'll march _right_ back to that house. No questions asked, Deanerino, just say the _word_!"

"Frankie!" Dean now had both hands on the girl's shoulders, shaking her slightly to get her to stop talking. "Geez, how many miles does your mouth have?"

The girl's animated begging ceased, a defeated expression now coating her face. "Dean," she started, but she was quickly hushed by the man. She shut her lips, not daring to open them on his request.

"Listen to me very carefully, okay?" he said as he held her frantic eyes in his. "I'm not mad."

Frankie couldn't remember when her heart had frozen in her chest, whether it was when she first saw Dean or when he said those words. "You-… you're not?"

"No." His face broke into a small smirk as a light chuckle brushed passed his lips. "You were just about ready to sell your soul to me right there."

"Well I thought you were about to string me up! Can you blame me?!"

Dean nodded his head to the side at the notion as if he were agreeing that it sounded like him. It didn't help Frankie's nerves. He finally let go and allowed the girl to breathe. "So… what do you really think?" she warily asked. She gestured to the space around them. "About all this?"

Dean stepped back and looked around. "Honestly? I'm impressed." Frankie heart seemed to stop again.

"I-I-Impressed? But I thought you forbade hunting without y'all."

"Well this is hardly hunting," Dean chuckled. "It's training. I'm impressed because you took initiative. Even knowing that we would disapprove, you took the responsibility to train yourself."

Frankie eyed the man suspiciously. She crossed her own arms over her chest. "You're taking this really well."

"Don't get me wrong, I still think you're wastin' your time." Frankie felt a jolt of offense at the statement.

"And how's that?" she questioned.

"Well, it's fitness. While hunting does require a lot of strength, it's mostly about skill. You can't learn that throwing rocks and falling out of trees."

Frankie rolled her eyes at the truth of his words. "Okay, so where, pray tell, do I acquire such skill?"

Dean knowingly shrugged. "Easy. Experience."

Frankie's eyebrows shot up. "And how do I get experience if y'all won't let me out of the house?"

Dean shrugged again. "You don't."

"Dammit, Dean!" the girl shouted. She placed her hands on her hips and turned away from the man. "I am so _tired_ of this. I _can't_ stay put in Bobby's house. I _can't_ , Dean."

"Why not? You've got a sweet gig going on there. Protection, free shelter, free food."

"Loneliness, boredom, paranoia."

"Why ruin a good thing?"

"It was never a good thing!" Frankie paused to gather her thoughts instead of exploding. "Look. Sam's gone, Dean." She saw the man stiffen at the mention of their brother. "The apocalypse is on the cusp of happening and you want me to play patty cake with the dust bunnies under the couch. I _refuse_ to be a benchwarmer for _Armageddon_!" When Dean didn't immediately respond, Frankie continued. "Whether you allow it or not, I will come here every day and train. I will get stronger and stronger so that when the day comes for me to do my part, I'll be ready. Now you can bitch about it or get behind the idea. I've made my choice. Now you make yours."

For a long while, Dean didn't say a word. Through her exclamation, he held a steady gaze on the girl. He showed no emotion. He simply stared at her fuming form with a neutral expression, as if the words didn't faze him. It only angered her more.

She lifted her chin when he finally sighed and shifted his weight between his legs. "Like I said, you can't learn skill out here." Frankie furiously huffed through her nose. She knew he wouldn't budge. She opened her mouth to fire off more words of truth from her tongue. "That's why I'll teach you."

The words shied away and burrowed back into her throat at his words. She nearly choked on them as she replayed them over and over again in her head. "What?"

Dean shook his head at the girl. "I considered it last night, but now I'm sure of what I need to do. You're right, Frankie. Sam's gone. We're short a hunter and in a helluva need for more capable hands on deck. I can't expect you to watch the world fall apart through a window. So… I think the best way to learn how to be a hunter is from the best."

Frankie's heart stopped for the third time that day. She couldn't believe a word the man was saying. After everything since the day she met him, it took Sam leaving and her mouthing off to him for the hundredth time to change his mind. That seemed impossible a few short days ago, but here they were.

"I'm sure you need some time to think it over," he continued. Frankie darted her eyes into his. "It's a bit to consider on the spot, so I'll leave you to think ab-"

"Yes!" Frankie yelled. A few birds flew away in surprise. "Yes, yes, yes! Hell yes! Fuck yes! Damn yes! That's all I've been asking for! Yes!"

"Alright, alright. Calm down before you have a stroke. I know that's a problem with you people."

"When do we start? Can we start now! I mean my arms hurt and my legs feel like they may congeal, but I can still listen pretty well!"

"Frankie." The girl finally shut her mouth at his command, but it didn't stop her giddy, muffled squeals. "Rule number one, okay? First lesson. Always listen to me. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, got it."

"R-Really? 'Cause you just broke it."

"I can't help it! I'm just so excited!"

Dean watched as the bubbly girl bounced on her feet and gazed at her beaming grin. Needless to say it was contagious. He rolled his eyes at the girl and kept his own grin a bay.

"Now I want you to listen to me for real, okay?" The girl did as she was told and stilled her quivering body. "I won't be easy on ya. It'll be difficult and I expect you to give me unbelievable results. Also something to note, once you agree to my training, there's no going back. You'll be in the shit. No second guessings, no second chances, no getting out. You will never have any friends outside of the inner circle. You can't trust anyone. Keep your contacts as limited as possible. At times, I may control who you talk to. You will do as I say. And if you agree to all of the terms and follow my instructions with maximum precision, you will have a fighting chance at success as a hunter. Do you agree to these terms?"

Frankie appeared as if she was giving it a lot of thought, but the answer was as obvious as the dirt on her pants. She would give his training her all. She would do everything he said if it meant it resulted in her goals being met. She didn't have friends anyway, so that part would be easy. His question was the easiest one she ever answered.

"Yes sir."


	16. Chapter 15 - Rules

**A/N: Once again, I apologize for the delay. For those who did not read my last update, my family and I have just gone through a tragic passing of a close relative, and because of this I had been preoccupied with those matters. However, I should be back on track and hope the wait was worth it. Thanks for all the favorites, follows, and of course reviews! Y'all have such nice things to say, and I cherish every word.**

* * *

Focus was all but absent that day. Frankie's mind should have been revolving around doing her exercises, making sure to remember her tips with the machete, and clearing her mind so that she could, well, focus. However, the only thing that lingered in her mind was her training session with Dean after lunch.

They had agreed yesterday to meet every day after her morning workout to have lunch and then spend the next few hours working on hunting skills. Frankie loved the idea, especially since she didn't have to completely abandon her workout. Even though it had only been a few days on it, she could already tell that it was helping her, mentally and physically.

Between rock tossing and lunges, Frankie couldn't stop wondering what kind of things she would be learning from Dean. Would they be sparring? Would they go over the different monsters on the jobs, or would they just focus on demons for the time being? Would he teach her how to shoot? Would he show her how to perform an exorcism? Her mind raced and raced over what would go down later that day.

Frankie found herself pushing her body to get through the exercises as quickly as possible. The quicker she finished the faster she'd get to her lessons. However, she knew she would only be hurting herself and forced herself to slow down. She'd be no good to her brother if she couldn't move her arms.

But finally the moment came where her last set of squats were finished and she was able to cool off. Well, she attempted to cool off, but she merely rested for a minute and began jogging – borderline sprinting – back to Bobby's house.

She couldn't stand it. There she was a week ago, just finding out about hunters and being prohibited to even think about becoming one, and now she was about to be trained by her own brother, and not just any brother either. Dean was going to train her. Dean, the brother who didn't want a sister. Dean, the brother who was difficult to be around. Dean, the brother who lied to her and felt nothing about it. Between the two, Sam would have been the ideal choice to train her, but looking back on him now… Frankie wasn't so sure.

Unlike the previous days, Frankie didn't stop her jog when the house was in view. Instead, she ran right up the steps to the door and hurriedly opened it, not wanting to waste a single moment of her class time with Dean.

"I'm here!" she announced while shedding off the backpack on her shoulders.

"Don't need to shout. We're right over here."

Frankie looked over to the table where Bobby and Dean were sitting. She sent them a smile before joining them at the table. "Morning, guys. How're y'all today?"

"Well, the world's about to end and we have no idea where Sam's off to. Suppose we're fine considerin'," Bobby noted as he stood from the table. "Yer awful chipper today."

Frankie wasn't sure whether or not Dean had told Bobby about him training her. Last time she checked, Bobby wasn't too keen on her getting involved. So, in this case she wouldn't say why she was truly happy. "Endorphins, I guess."

Bobby offhandedly hummed in understanding. "Now we can finally eat. You hungry?"

"Starving," the girl exhaled. As Bobby fixed everyone a bowl, Frankie shifted her gaze back to Dean, who was in the process of drinking one of her water bottles. She felt a roll of her eyes come along, but suppressed it. "Morning, Dean," she greeted.

Dean, however, didn't say anything back. He nodded his head to her in acknowledgment, but just went right back to sipping on the bottle before Bobby dropped a bowl in front of him. Frankie wondered if something was bothering him. However, remembering what Bobby just said made her realize that it most likely had something to do with their brother.

Bobby set down a bowl in front of Frankie. It was beef stew and quite delicious. Throughout the lunch, Frankie kept glancing up at Dean. Being honest with herself, seeing Dean down in the dumps really killed her buzz. She wondered exactly how this would affect her training, but when Bobby finally spoke up and mentioned something to him about the Impala – something _other_ than the end of the world – he perked up, his attitude brightening to a level almost like the day before. Needless to say that Frankie was relieved as she chowed down on her stew.

Similar to her workout, Frankie rushed through her lunch. She couldn't hold her excitement any longer. As Dean and Bobby chattered on, Frankie collected all of their bowls and placed them in the sink. She then stood beside the counter near the door, silently giving Dean the hint that she was ready to go.

He didn't get the hint. She stood there for a while, watching in boredom as they talked about carburetors and crankshafts and all the stuff she was forced to talk about with her old babysitter. Rolling her eyes, she settled herself back into her chair. She hoped that would attract the man's attention, but she was wrong. She rested her head on her hand and huffed. Boy, those men could talk about cars for hours. And it seemed like that was what they were doing, too.

Frankie's buzz was gone again. She sighed through her nose as she picked at a chipped piece of plastic on the table. She supposed it was good for them to chat it out considering they had done nothing but argue and brood for the past few days, but, dammit, she wanted to train with Dean!

And finally the moment came. "Well, I gotta get back into it," Bobby sighed. He grunted as he stood up from the chair, which caused Frankie's entire form to perk up. She nearly cried out in relief when the conversation ended. The man popped the cricks in his spine before heading off to the study. Before he entered the room, though, he stopped in the threshold and gave Dean a stony glance. "Don't kill 'er," he stated firmly. And then he walked over to his desk.

Dean rolled his eyes before tossing his bottle and heading out of the kitchen. Frankie blinked in surprise at Bobby. Apparently he knew about their training. And he was okay with that?

"Hey," Dean called behind her. She turned around to see him waiting beyond the open back door. "We doin' this or what?"

Frankie didn't wait another moment before hurrying through the door and shutting it promptly, showing the man that she was ready and willing to start the lesson as soon as possible. Dean snorted amusedly. He then turned and walked off, leading Frankie to the location of her first lesson.

Frankie caught up with his pace so that she was walking beside him. "So Bobby knows?" she asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, sparing her a momentary glance. "He felt like the time was right, too. I was actually surprised. He was really against it."

"Yeah, I thought he might be."

"But there're bigger things to worry about. Even more than your safety."

Frankie thought about that statement. She felt a fleeting moment of anxiety, but snuffed it at the first moment she could. She decided to push the conversation forward instead of lingering on the previous moment. "So, what's in store for today?" she asked in a lively tone. "What's today's lesson?"

Dean raised an eyebrow down at her. "Think you're a little too excited for this."

"What? Nah." She paused. "Well, I guess I'm a little too excited, but can you blame me? I finally get to join the business!"

"Well, you're not joining yet." The girl glanced up to him and he sent her a knowing look in return. "I'm _training_ you to be a hunter. Joining the business is a long way down the road. Plus, you should at least _kill_ something before tagging along on cases."

"What about-," Frankie began to say, but she bit her tongue the moment the words left her mouth. She nearly spilled about the demon at Jimmy's house to Dean, and he noticed her hesitation. He narrowed his brows at the girl as she searched for the words to cover her tracks. "What… do you think the first thing I kill will be? A ghost?"

Dean lingered his gaze on her for a few heart pounding moments before looking back ahead. "Who knows? Could be anything." Frankie sighed in relief as inconspicuously as possible. "If we're being realistic, I'd probably say a demon."

"Demon?" Frankie repeated. For a moment, she was worried that he was still suspecting her of the demon killing.

"They're the biggest problem we got going on right now. The odds point to one of those demonic dicks being your first."

"Frankly, I'd prefer a ghost," the girl muttered under her breath.

Dean snorted humorlessly, "Shoulda showed up two years ago then."

Frankie felt a sheet of sadness weigh on her at Dean's remark. She wondered how different her life would have been if she had looked for John two years ago. "Guess I got a lotta getting used to with demons."

"There's no getting used to them." Frankie looked up at Dean. "But I'll show you how to protect yourself against 'em."

Frankie thought for a moment about the dangers of the creatures. She thought about Amelia. "Can you teach me how to not get possessed?"

Dean stopped walking. Whether it was because of her question or if they had reached the training grounds, Frankie stopped, too, and turned to him. "That's not something that can be taught." He must have seen the worry begin to take shape on Frankie's face, because he brought an assuring tone into his voice. "But it can be prevented. I'll show you. Just… trust me, okay? That's what students are supposed to do with their teachers."

Frankie began to believe that they were ready to train when Dean shrugged off his jacket and placed it on the hood of a Junker car. The training area was a small clearing next to the junkyard. Nothing really special.

Frankie's excitement over the training returned to her as she rolled her shoulders in preparation. "Alright. Day one. What we got?"

Dean shook his head at the enthusiastic girl. He stepped forward and cracked his knuckles. "Today, we're gunna focus on hand to hand combat."

"Hand to hand. Neat," Frankie noted with an approving smirk.

Dean put a hand up to her and wore a serious expression, silencing the eager girl. "Remember rule one?"

"I'm listening," she defended.

"You can't listen if you keep talking. Just pay attention." Frankie rolled her eyes and set her shoulders in an attentive gesture. "In a real life situation, you shouldn't be anywhere near the threat unless you're striking. The closer you are to a monster, the closer you are to death. But there are times where you have to act close up. I'm just gunna be showing you some basic defense moves and a few offensive ones."

Frankie nodded attentively, hanging onto every word. She was determined to show him how great of a student she could be. She noted how Dean readied himself in a defensive position with his knees slightly bent and his hands leveled into fists in front of him. Frankie tried to mirror his position as best as she could.

"Alright, so make sure you're really loose. You won't be able to do anything effective if you're all stiff, so relax." Frankie nodded. "Relax," he repeated. The girl looked confused for a moment before lowering her shoulders and bringing her elbows in a little. "I said relax."

"I'm relaxed!" she said.

Dean sighed and got out of his stance to start from the beginning. "Okay, see how my feet are positioned? Make sure they're at least a shoulders length apart. Then you wanna bend your knees so they're nice and ready to move out of the way of an attack. You wanna be relaxed enough to dodge anything that comes your way, alright?"

"Okay," Frankie muttered, looking down at her legs. She followed his directions and shifted from side to side to get used to the position.

"Now you wanna do the same with your arms. If they're stiff, you won't be able to move 'em in time. You'll think you can dodge a blow in time and then boom. You've got claw marks in your throat." Frankie shivered at the imagery. She held her arms like Dean held his own and rolled her shoulders to loosen them up a little. "Okay. That's better. Just… work on that. Take a breath." Frankie did as she was told. "Alright, good. Heads up."

"Huh?" Frankie uttered before noticing a fist coming right towards her face. She gasped before ducking down, his fist barely scraping her ponytail. She stood back up with a glare on her face. "What was that? You weren't gunna give me any warning?"

"I said heads up," he answered with a shrug. "Your reflexes are good. But you wanna dodge to the side instead of ducking. Otherwise you'll just get trapped. Heads up."

Frankie lightly yelped when he came again, and she ducked. Only this time she didn't come back up. She quickly found herself unable to breathe when Dean's arm wrapped around her neck and his forearm pressed firmly against her throat. She stood up and frantically reached for his arm to yank it off, but her left arm was grabbed and tucked behind her back.

"See? I told you to dodge to the side." In an instant, he let go of the girl. She scrambled away from him and coughed while holding her hands on her knees.

"What the hell… is wrong with you?" she panted. "You couldn't tell me that you were gunna _choke_ me?!"

"In an actual fight, a monster won't announce what they're gunna do."

"You're not a monster!"

"You gunna dodge to the side now?" Frankie looked over to him as she stood up only to find him coming at her again. This time, though, she moved to the side instead of ducking under the blow. "Good. Now look at our positions," he instructed while freezing his stance mid-punch. Frankie, still with her peeved expression, observed his arm extended beside her head. "What are you gunna do next?"

The girl looked between Dean and the arm, thinking about what she'd do. "Does slapping you upside the head count?" she deadpanned. Dean didn't think it was funny.

"Be serious."

Frankie sighed as she examined his still extended arm. "I guess…," she said as she brought her hand up to strike at it.

"Good. You wanna hit it to the side to deflect the blow and throw the attacker off. But you also wanna aim to grab the wrist if you can. This gives you a whole lotta control if you use it to your advantage. Here, I'll show you." Dean then brought his arm back into his ready stance. "Punch me."

Frankie raised her eyebrows at him. "Punch you?" In all honesty, punching him would feel pretty good after pulling the stunt he did. "Okay," she said as she readied herself in her own position. She narrowed her eyes before stepping forward and throwing her fist right to his face.

The man seemed to move as fast as lightning. He dodged the punch and wasted no time in catching her wrist, lightly striking at her elbow, and rolling her arm into a hold, sending her body leaning forward from the pressure.

"Ow, ow, ow!" she shouted as she tried wiggling out of the position.

"You see what I did? I prevented your next move by getting the upper hand through your wrist. Now I can break your arm-"

"Please don't."

"-go for a knee jab to your face-"

"Oh god, don't."

"-I can even dislocate your shoulder if I wanted. Holds are essential in a fight." He released her once again. The girl stepped away and rubbed her aching shoulder.

Frankie stood up, wincing at the already sore muscles. "Look, dude," she breathed out, holding up a hand to prevent any further surprise attacks. "Can't you just talk me through these things? I mean c'mon. All I'm gaining from this are bruises."

Dean crossed his arms as he looked down at the girl. "What happened to learning as you go?"

Frankie's face fell to that of peeved remembrance. She did say that was how she would learn. "That was when I wanted to go solo. But here you are, training me yourself. If you're gunna teach me, do it gradually so I can actually _retain_ something! You don't have to be so hard on me on the first day!"

Then, all of a sudden her brother's face turned stony, a look of vague frustration lurking in his eyes. "I told you this would be hard. I don't think I coulda been any clearer on that." Frankie forgot her irritation at the sound of his voice. "This isn't algebra, Frankie. This is hunting. There is no easy way to teach this. You can't just take it slow. It's either you learn my way or learn out there. Only you have a way better chance of making it to day two with me."

Frankie cowered away from his steely tone. She had broken rule number one: always listen to Dean. It seemed that if she was to ever make it through his boot camp, she would have to comply with every technique, no matter how rushed and ludicrous they seemed, and no matter how many injuries she developed through it.

"Now if you wanna do this the easy way," the man continued, walking over to the nearby Junker car and picking up his jacket from the hood, "then I'm not wasting my time."

Frankie stood up straight as he started walking away. She felt a moment of panic rise in her. She didn't want to lose her teacher on _day one_. "Dean, wait! I'm sorry. I-I'll listen. I will." The man stopped in his tracks, but didn't turn around. Frankie took a few careful steps towards him. She took in a deep breath. "I know you're doing this on your own time and without anything in return. If I'm gunna use up that time, I'm gunna make it worth your while. I'll listen. I promise." Frankie pressed her lips together and forced a tough, determined voice forward. "I'll show you what I can do. I'll be the best damn hunter you'll ever teach."

Dean didn't say anything. He remained stoic. Frankie didn't know what else to say. She gave him her word to listen. What more could she give? Did he want her to beg? She lowered her head to gaze at the grass. She would. If it would get their session back on track, she would grovel.

Then finally, Dean hummed an agreeing note. "Heads up."

Frankie's eyes went wide. In an instant, she snapped her head up and narrowed her eyes on the man in front of her, spinning with a fist aiming right towards her nose. She let out a gasp as she shot to the side and reflexively swiped her arm towards the soaring arm.

Once the air stilled and no more projectiles were targeting her face, Frankie and Dean looked at their positions. Dean froze mid-stance with his arm angled to the ground, Frankie's wrist having smacked against his own and pressing against it as they stilled.

Frankie darted her eyes over to Dean to check if she had done the move right. The approving look in Dean's eyes confirmed it. "Good." A faint prideful smile began to form on Frankie's cheeks.

Despite Dean's want to keep things at a realistic level, he decided to slow things down – just the tiniest bit – in honor of Frankie's first day. This wasn't to say that it was inherently easy, but instead set to a pace just level enough to where the girl could understand what she was supposed to be retaining.

Dean started an exercise with her where he would repeatedly try and hit her – fist, pretend knife, or a straight up bitch slap – and she would attempt to deflect it. The goal was to also grab his wrist in the process to gain control, but it was, of course, difficult when Dean wouldn't slow things down.

Frankie started the exercise off doing rather well. Dean would throw a varied strike at her and she would dodge this way and that while chopping at his arm. While also strengthening a reflex to look for certain types of blows and deflecting them accordingly, Frankie also gained a bit of a workout at the same time. She would make a note to decrease the arm exercises she would have before each session due to them feeling like Jell-O after a while.

Once Frankie was beginning to anticipate a pattern with the blows, she began to get cocky. She could almost see what type of hit he would throw at her beforehand, so she started lacking on her attention. It didn't take long for Dean to notice this and get peeved about it.

In between chops and grabs, Frankie giggled to herself. "Y'know," she mused, not even looking when she deflected his arm anymore, "this whole exercise kinda reminds me of the Karate Kid. Y'know? Wax on, wax off. Wax on, wax off. Wax on, w-"

Frankie saw the fist much too late when a burst of sudden pain exploded in her nose. Her head jerked back from both the impact and shock of the punch, her hand shooting up to cover the instantly throbbing bridge. She let out a delayed gasp at the sensation and realization of being punched in the face.

"Ow!" she shouted while shooting a glare at the man in front of her.

"Pay attention," he merely noted. His voice held no repercussions of hitting her. That would all be well and good if not for the teeny smile that cracked on the corner of his mouth. Needless to say, the fact that he wasn't sorry plus the pain in her face shot a spike of anger up into her skull.

This time around was different. Dean wasn't the one throwing the punch. Frankie stepped forward and shot her fist up to the man in what would have been a nice little uppercut had Dean's quick reflexes not grabbed it and halted it before reaching him.

Instead of anger at her defiance, Dean was actually amused at the red faced girl, and his face surely showed it. Much to Frankie's aggravation, Dean raised an eyebrow and curled a corner of his mouth into an actual smirk. "Gettin' a little riled up, are w-"

The next punch Frankie had thrown wasn't blocked. Dean was momentarily stunned at the sudden blow that made it to his jaw. It didn't hurt, but, damn, if it didn't catch him off guard.

Frankie ripped her fist out of Dean's grasp as he shook his head to shrug off the surprise. The girl glared up at him with puffy cheeks and a gradually pinking nose. Dean stared down at her unfazed and unscathed. "Okay," he began, his voice even and lacking rage. "I know what we need to work on tomorrow."

Frankie huffed and stepped back with crossed arms. "What? Anger management?" she sarcastically remarked.

Dean looked as if he were considering the notion before answering. "No," he said, absentmindedly rubbing his chin. "Punching."

* * *

The next session went as smoothly as the last. Which was not at all. Dean did as he said he would and approached Frankie with tips on how to punch, and if anyone had solid tips on punching it was Dean Winchester. The only problem was that Frankie was not Dean Winchester.

Dean quickly found the agitation in teaching. Frankie had trouble following the simplest direction. He tells her to exhale on each punch, she inhales. He instructs her to place her thumb on the outside, she tucks it in her fist like a dumbass that _wants_ a broken thumb. And above all _she doesn't relax_.

"Keep your wrist straight. _Straight_. Do you _want_ to sprain it again?"

Frankie puffed out a stifled growl as she hit the throw pillow in Dean's hands once more. "I'm sorry. I'm still remembering everything," she muttered slowly, the frustration very apparent in her low voice. Dean was obviously testing her patience, but she was testing his, too.

Frankie righted her wrist and thumb so that they were to Dean's liking before punching the pillow again. It felt strange and unsteady, but it did feel stronger when done how he instructed. The thing wasn't that Dean was bad at teaching. It was just _how_ he was teaching. Getting edgy when she would forget a step and rolling his eyes when she didn't do it perfect wasn't helping her attitude and her attitude wasn't helping Dean's attitude and so on and so forth.

"Remember your other hand. It shouldn't just sit there while your other one does the work."

The entire session had gone on exactly like that for hours: Dean barking orders and Frankie progressively getting frustrated at his lack of letting up. She should have expected this behavior from him. Just because they had one friendly conversation over washing dishes that didn't mean that he was going to bring that mindset to the training grounds. If anything, his attitude seemed worse than it usually was. Needless to say, Frankie was starting to have second thoughts about this whole thing. Bobby would be a way better teacher.

She stuffed down the thought with another few punches to the pillow. Dean was the best option she had now. Bobby was too busy, and Dean offered. Even _she_ knew that was rare. Besides, she had this underlying want to follow through with her words the other day. She had to be the best hunter he ever trained. So far, things weren't looking up, but, hell, it was only the second day. She held onto a hope that things would only get better from there.

"Fix your wrist."

' _Oh my god, I'm gunna kill him,'_ she snarled in her head.

As if punching wasn't enough, Dean was ballsy enough to teach her how to handle different knives while she was in her mood. "I'm perfectly fine with practicing my machete in the woods, thanks," she sneered while opening her water bottle.

"And what happens in a fight if you don't have access to your machete?" he asked in an annoyingly arrogant tone. Frankie glared at him as she gulped down water and wiped her mouth.

"Fine. Where do I start?" she groaned with a roll of her eyes.

"First, by cutting your attitude." Then Frankie's glare deepened.

" _My_ attitude? And what are you gunna do with yours? Parade it around like you're Macy's on Thanksgiving? If you bring yours out here, you better damn well believe I'm bringing mine!"

"I'm your mentor. Between the two of us, I'm the one who _should_ have an attitude."

"Yeah, 'cause that makes sense."

Dean responded by rolling his eyes at her. Frankie was just about getting tired of seeing those revolving irises. "I am in way over my head," he mumbled under his breath. He tossed the pillow on top of the Junker's hood as he rifled through his bag. "Alright then. How 'bout this?" he said, taking out blades one by one and setting them off to the side. "Rule number two: leave your attitude at the house." Frankie sucked in an audible breath, ready to fire off at the man. "And before you say anything, that applies to me, too. We both argue within walls. That meet your demands?"

Frankie eyed her brother with skeptical looks. "And you're gunna follow through on this?"

"I pretty much have to," he answered, turning around with two equally sized knives in his hand. "Or else you'll just call me out on it and pitch a world class fit."

Dean stopped in front of Frankie and handed her one of the knives, pinching the bolster and flicking it up so that the handle was right in front of her. The girl lifted her eyes up to the man with an unsure frown as she took the knife in her hand.

"Forgive me if I'm skeptical."

"Hey, hey," Dean clipped. "What's rule number one?"

Frankie sighed and repressed the yearning need to roll her eyes again. "Always listen to Dean."

"Good." The man lifted the knife in his hands next to his head. "We'll start with handling."

* * *

Frankie once again couldn't focus on her workout. This time, however, she wasn't unfocused because of the excitement of training with her brother. She was unfocused because of another brother of hers.

The night before, Frankie woke up in a cold sweat. She barely held onto fading images as vivid as the ceiling she gazed up at. She had a nightmare about Sam. Frankie had walked into a motel room to find him there with his back turned. Overcome with relief of knowing that he was alive and not mangled from demon interaction, she called out to him, but he didn't seem to hear her.

She approached him eagerly, reaching out for his shoulder to turn him around and make her presence known. But she would quickly wish she hadn't. Sam turned around alright. But when he turned around, she was met with pitch black eyes pointed down at her. She backpedaled away from the man, but every step back only brought him closer. It was only when his hands grabbed her hair and chin and twisted her head with a crack that she woke up with palpitations.

Of course, she wasn't going back to sleep after that, so she instead got ready for her workout and headed off an hour early to sweat past the lingering images in her mind. Working out only helped slightly. Seeing your newfound brother snap your neck with the eyes of a demon didn't just leave you. She only hoped Dean's rough training session would clear out the remaining unease from the nightmare.

However, luck wasn't on her side that day. When she arrived back at Bobby's house, Dean wasn't waiting for her at the table like he was the last few days. She set her backpack down by the door like every day and walked further into the house.

"Dean!" she called out. No answer. She checked the bathroom and front porch, but he wasn't to be found. Her next move was to stand at the bottom of the stairs and call up to the second floor. " _Dean_!" she called again. Silence was her response. She scowled upstairs before huffing and heading up. "If I find you in my bed…," she muttered under her breath.

But when she reached upstairs and checked the guest room – now declared her room considering the fact that she lived there – he wasn't there. She checked the upstairs bathroom. Nothing. She even checked Bobby's room. Empty. So, he wasn't in the house. But she didn't see him outside either. Looking out her bedroom window, she was shocked to see the Impala gone. Well, that would explain it.

She approached Bobby's garage where he was elbow deep in a Junker's engine. The area smelled heavily of gasoline and oil, a rather homey smell that she found common on most men in her hometown. "Hey, Bobby," she softly greeted, not wanting to surprise the man in such a dangerous position.

"Mornin', kid," he greeted back. "Have a nice one?"

She shrugged despite him not looking at her. "It's been… tolerable." She gained a hum from the man. "Have you seen Dean?" she asked, rounding the car to face him. He didn't lift his gaze as he twisted a bolt with some struggle, his creased forehead wrinkling the blotch of oil between his eyebrows.

"He went out for supplies. Runnin' low on salt."

Frankie snorted as she leaned a shoulder against the rusted Buick. "Don't seem too low in the kitchen cabinets. We have at least ten plus sized cans."

Bobby retracted his arm from the innards of the engine and rested it on the edge of the open hood. "Kid," he sighed lifting his eyes up to the girl across from him. "You gotta lot to learn if you don't think hunters need a surplus of rock salt."

Frankie sent him an agreeing nod and sighed as she pushed off of the car. "Any idea when he'll be back?"

"Should be soon. He left just a little while ago. Don't take him too long. _Usually_. Mind handin' me my beer?"

Frankie retrieved the man's drink and walked over to him. He took the drink with a quick thank you as he stepped back and gazed into the engine. Frankie noticed the frustration on his face. He must have been having trouble getting the car to work. She was no expert, but she knew a thing or two thanks to that damn chatterbox, Alden Biddick, so she decided to just give it a small glance to help if she could.

"Tried just 'bout everything on this one. It'll start, but won't last longer than a minute or two. Checked the starter, can't find anythin' wrong with the transmission, replaced the battery, tank's full… I'm stumped." Bobby turned his head over to the curious girl peering over his shoulder. "You wouldn't have any ideas, would ya?"

Frankie switched her gaze between the man and the engine. "May I?" she quietly asked. The man seemed momentarily amused at her politeness and responded with a proper tone.

"You may," he mocked with a small gesture.

Frankie peered over the engine and squinted her eyes, scouring deep into the engine. She didn't know what she was supposed to be looking for, but she assumed she would know if she found it. Then again, Bobby was an expert on these things. If he couldn't find anything wrong, then there probably wasn't anything wrong.

But then she did see something. "You got a flashlight?" Almost as if she were a real mechanic, a flashlight was placed into her hands and she pointed it inside and off to the side to an area that was hard to spot. "Right there. You see it? There's some sort of chain wrapped around inside like floss in a dog's intestines. I'm no expert, but that probably has something to do with it." She lifted up and coughed out the small amount of gas fumes in her lungs. She turned to the man with a smile as she handed the flashlight back to him. "Probably couldn't see it 'cause of the rust. An easy miss, I guess."

Bobby lifted his brows at the girl. "Would have never spotted that. Well, at least before I took the whole thing apart. Thanks for savin' me th' trouble."

Frankie grinned brightly at Bobby. "Glad I could help in any way."

With another approving nod, Bobby got to work with removing the obstructing chain, sending Frankie to head back to the house. She stepped inside and headed for the kitchen to prepare herself a sandwich when she spotted something she had previously missed when in the kitchen. There was a note hanging on the refrigerator. She leaned forward and read the handwriting.

 _Went out for supplies. While I'm gone, open the third drawer in Bobby's desk. Take out the gun and look over it. Get familiar with it. When I get back, we will practice shooting._

 _\- Dean_

Frankie raised her eyebrows. She was finally going to get to learn how to shoot. That was something she never saw herself doing, yet here she was, about to be trained by an expert. Life was funny sometimes.

After lunch, she reeled her mind for things to do while she waited for Dean to come back. She paced around the study and straightened a few of the stacks of books. She then busied herself with straightening up Bobby's desk to where the papers on them weren't a jumbled mess. At the same time, she tried to ignore the absolutely horrible things on the newspaper articles.

Bored of downstairs already, Frankie headed upstairs to find something to do. She quickly found the absence of humans to talk to tedious. But then, halfway up the stairs, she remembered something important that she completely forgot about. How she forgot about it in such a short time she couldn't comprehend.

She made a beeline for her room and reached inside her bag. It didn't take her long to find her cellphone and flip it open. She opened her contacts and quickly found Adam's name, pressing the call button before holding the phone up to her ear.

"Can't believe I forgot about my _other_ brother," she mumbled under her breath.

The phone dialed and dialed. Then it dialed some more. Frankie must have caught him at a bad moment. Then his voice came through the phone.

"Hey, this is Adam."

"Hey, Adam. It's-"

"Leave a message."

"Oh."

Frankie removed the phone from her ear. She internally berated herself for falling for the old "not knowing it's a voice message before speaking" trick. What was she, a two-dimensional TV sitcom character? She left a short message saying that she was doing fine and hoped he was doing the same. She ended the message by suggesting he call her soon and snapped her phone shut.

With that over and done with, she busied herself with sorting through her other stuff. She folded unfolded clothes, sorted darks from lights, and readied dirty clothes for washing. Once that was all over and done with, she sighed and stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips.

"Ugh, fine," she spat impatiently. She headed downstairs and into the study to open the third drawer in Bobby's desk. She gazed down at the worn and scuffed revolver. Carefully, she picked it up and scanned it, feeling the weight in her hands. It was heavier than she thought it would be. She lifted the gun up as if she were going to shoot something and pretended to pull the trigger with an explosion sound effect blowing out of her pursed lips.

Giggling at her own antics, Frankie looked around for her new books and found the one about gun handling. She grabbed it and headed outside to the training grounds to meet Dean when he got back.

Frankie set the open book on the hood of an old Junker car, opened up to the pages on how to properly handle a handgun. She read the pages first and then stood next to the car, keeping her eyes glued onto the pages. She followed each step exactly and mirrored the diagram to the best of her ability.

She held the gun firmly, making sure to avoid touching the trigger. She didn't want to risk the thing being loaded. The book told her to use both hands, so she did as it said. Using her right hand, she held the grip higher up than her left hand, which covered the rest of it. She raised the gun to be level with her eyes. It was a strange feeling, but it was a feeling she'd have to get used to.

She brought the gun down and let both arms hang at her side. Then, she quickly went back into the position the book told her, acting as if she were in a high stakes situation where she needed to quickly draw her gun. She made sure to keep her legs a shoulder's length apart like Dean instructed her to do with her punching.

She kept up that exercise for a few more times, each time adjusting her position a little more until it felt more natural when she brought the gun up to her face. Once again, she began to get cocky with the exercise and added some flourish to the positioning. She put on a smolder like James Bond and pretended like she was in an opening credits sequence in a double "o" seven film. In one passionate positioning, Frankie went as far as pretending to pull the trigger, but she found the trigger to be more sensitive than she first thought.

The painful burst of sound that ripped through the gun once it was fired left Frankie's ears ringing. Her mouth gaped with a silent scream as she recovered from the shock of having just fired a real gun. Once her head cleared, she registered the aching in her wrists. The recoil of the weapon hurt, much to her surprise.

After that mishap, Frankie stilled her flourishing and instead kept things serious. That was a big reminder that she wasn't messing with a toy, and she shouldn't be playing as Sean Connery's stunt double.

She swallowed throughout her next few stances to try and cease the ringing in her ears. It gradually dissipated, but she could still hear a tiny remainder as she raised the gun to her eyes.

"You're holding it wrong."

Frankie jolted. She lowered the gun as she registered a voice, although she wasn't entirely sure if she had actually heard it or if her raw ears were just making up sounds. When she finally turned around, though, she found that Dean was indeed standing behind her with crossed arms.

"What?" she asked him, sticking a pinky into her ear to try and get the last of the fuzziness out.

"I said you're holding the gun all wrong. You won't shoot a thing like that."

Frankie was able to at least hear the arrogance in his voice at that. She didn't like it. "The book says this is how you're supposed to do it," she stated firmly, gesturing to the open pages next to her. "Maybe _you've_ been doing it wrong."

Dean scoffed, a disbelieving half smile stretching a corner of his mouth as he stepped towards the girl. "A _book_? A book knows more about shooting than me?"

"It could," Frankie said, straightening her shoulders. "Not _everyone_ learns from just going out and doing something. Someone had to put the idea to paper. 'Sides, the way I'm doing it feels right enough."

"Says the girl who's never shot a gun a day in her life."

Frankie sneered at the man with a knowing glint in her eyes. "You're actually wrong about that. I _have_ shot a gun before." She left out exactly how long ago that time was.

Dean glanced down at her with a scrutinizing look to him before he hummed and tilted his head to the side. He pursed his lips as he lifted his gaze to the cars in front of him. "Okay. If you think your book's a better teacher than me," he started, holding his hand out for the gun, "then let's put it to the test." Frankie narrowed her eyes. He was asking for a challenge, wasn't he? There was no way she would come out without embarrassing herself. "Unless you think you're wrong about the book knowing more than me."

"No," Frankie bit defiantly. Huffing, she hesitated before smacking the gun into Dean's outstretched hand. He gave it a small spin on his finger before facing the cars.

"That Honda over there," he said while using the gun as a pointer. Frankie looked over to a car a good distance away before glaring back at the man. He shifted his gaze over to the girl, holding eye contact as he set his legs in a ready stance and brought the gun up to aim. He then finally moved his eyes in the direction of the car before firing the gun and hitting it right on the wing mirror, shattering what was left of the glass. He turned over to the girl with an arrogant smirk on his face, handing her the gun back. "All ya gotta do is hit that same car and you've proved me wrong."

She snatched the gun out of his hand with a glower in her eyes. He knew what he was setting her up for, but she wouldn't back down after hearing his stupid, conceited voice talk down to her. Maybe she'd get lucky and actually hit the damn thing. She ignored the haughty look he had about him as he crossed his arms over his chest and readied herself in the same stance she had used before he arrived.

She stared down the sights, right on the passenger door of the Honda. She felt a nervous quake in her chest. If she didn't hit it, Dean would either laugh at her or yell at her for defying him. Either way, she had to hit the damn door.

She exhaled and aimed before pressing down on the trigger. The recoil hurt less this time now that she was anticipating the blow, and the shot didn't seem as loud since it didn't catch her off guard, but she didn't focus on those aspects. She instead focused on where the bullet went.

"You were saying?" Dean jested.

Frankie's face burned with embarrassment when the bullet soared a good few feet above the car _next to_ the Honda. She turned on her heels and shot Dean a deadly scowl. "I'm inexperienced, okay? Of course I was gunna miss. This proves nothing."

"It proves enough," Dean chuckled. Frankie turned and slammed the book closed with a low growl. "Let this be a lesson for you, Franks." The girl turned her head over to the man. "I know what I'm talking about. Know what? We'll make that rule number three."

"That's basically rule number one."

Dean paused in thought before shrugging. "Then rule number three'll be 'don't start a lesson without my supervision.' You coulda killed yourself."

"Well I didn't," Frankie barked. "You gotta give me more credit than that."

Dean merely hummed idly before uncrossing his arms and stepping next to her. "Stance up." Frankie furrowed her brows at him before doing as he said. "Alright. What's wrong with this stance is that your shoulders are uneven, your elbows need to be raised, and you have _got_ to relax. Otherwise, you did an alright job."

Frankie looked over her shoulder at the man. "A compliment? For me?" she remarked with fake flattery.

Dean raised a brow as he tightened his lips. "Raise 'em." Frankie started to roll her eyes before remembering rule number two. She righted her stance with raised elbows. "Higher."

"Higher? Like a straight line?" she asked incredulously. When Dean hummed in confirmation, Frankie did as she was told, but did not like it. "I feel stupid," she uttered while adjusting her grip.

"You look stupid, too," Dean deadpanned. Frankie whipped her head over to the man with a glower fit for a queen. "Kidding," he assured, raising his hands in defense. "Couldn't resist," he added with a light smile.

That smile faded back into a serious gaze as he further instructed her how to place her fingers and aim. He placed a hand on her shoulder and one on her hands holding the gun. Holding his head next to her own, he gently adjusted her arm by shifting it a little to the right. Frankie focused with dangerous intensity at the car across from her as he lined up her shot.

"Okay. Keep both eyes open and shoot," he instructed while stepping back a few feet.

When Frankie pulled the trigger this time, she still missed, but only by a few inches and above the right car. She would be lying if she said she wasn't a little prideful over her progress.

"Good. You wanna work on holding your wrists and arms steady. That's where your accuracy is failing. That's something that gets better with practice." Dean stepped up to her and handed her a box of ammo. "Reload your gun and shoot again."

Frankie didn't miss a beat when following his orders. It took a bit to figure out how to reload the gun, but once she did she felt really cool doing it. Just as he instructed, she started firing the gun. She missed again, and she missed another time, but on the third try, with a string of quiet curses, she adjusted her grip and pulled the trigger, and this time she actually hit the Honda.

"Oh! I hit it! Did you see that?"

Dean let out a passing chuckle as he watched the bouncing girl. "I saw," he muttered passed his faint smirk. Frankie gave a small dance before going back into her stance and firing again. He shook his head at the girl. When she got in little excited bursts like right then and the day he found her in the woods, she looked just like a little kid who just met Mickey Mouse at Disney World.

Frankie had been excited about shooting at first. _At first_. Dean kept handing her box after box of bullets after she finished a round and continuously told her to fire. It got old pretty fast and it was painful to keep on shooting at different targets. Her wrists ached from the recoil and she could already feel blisters forming on her fingers.

"Can we stop this? At least take a break?" she sighed, turning around to face the man with a tired look. He shook his head and pointed back out to the cars.

"No. Keep shooting."

Frankie groaned and drooped her shoulders in exhaustion. "But I've been shooting for _hours_. I need a break! My wrists hurt!"

"Oh, c'mon. It hasn't been that long. And you gotta get used to the pain. How else are you gunna work through it?"

"Well, can't it be done in different sessions? I mean, does it _have_ to be all at once?"

"Shoot," he ordered, sending her a no nonsense look. The girl merely moaned again and leaned against the nearby Junker car.

"But my fingers have blisters!"

"God, you whine more than Sam."

The moment he said that, Frankie froze in place. Flashes of images from her dream the night before were brought back to the forefront of her mind. She could still see those black eyes sunken into that familiar face. Her stomach turned with unease.

She was so worried about Sam. She didn't even know what had become of him since Dean got back. She didn't know if he was okay or what he was like the last time any of them interacted with him, but she _was_ with the one who had interacted with him last. She could just ask.

"Dean," Frankie spoke up quietly. The man didn't answer, probably still waiting for her to fire. "What was Sam like the last time you saw him?"

The man remained silent. Frankie pushed off of the car and turned around to face him. She took in his downcast expression before he hid it behind a hardened gaze. "Shoot."

"Dean." Frankie's voice also meant no nonsense. "He's my brother, too. I deserve to know why he didn't come back with you."

The man's expression didn't budge. The girl didn't either. She kept her own hard gaze on him until he finally let out a curse hidden in a sigh. Shaking his head, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the ground.

"Sam chose to team up with a demon instead of his brother. Sam chose demon blood instead of his own. I told him…," Dean let out a sigh as he shook his head, "I told him if he walked away he can never come back. And he did. He chose to leave his family behind to do what he knows is wrong all for the sake of stopping the apocalypse. He doesn't care what he turns into because of it. All he cares about is keeping Lucifer in his cage. He doesn't care what happens after that."

Frankie watched as a fleeting emotion ran across his face. It looked an awful lot like guilt, but he bit it back with a clench of his jaw. "Sam chose to go down a road he won't come back from. That's why he's not here. That's why he's not coming back."

"What happens if he does come back?"

Dean lifted his gaze from the grass to the honey colored eyes across from him. The small sound of her voice matched the worrisome glint that passed through her irises. "He won't."

"But if he does," she added with a little more vigor. "What will… will he still be like… all…"

"Juiced up?" he finished for her. She gave a light nod. "Probably. But don't worry. Doubt he'll come crawling on his two knees admitting he was wrong. That's not Sam."

A moment of passing quietness filled the air before Frankie inhaled and asked a question that she had been mulling over for some time. "Was Sam always so… aggressive?"

"Aggressive?" Dean repeated. He took in a deep breath as he looked up in thought, hoping to ease the dismal mood of the conversation. "Nah. Sam's always been a bit of a… bit of a nerd. More of a nice guy than me. When I would strike out with random chicks in a bar, he'd be the one to comfort them when I said the wrong thing. Of course that was rare." Dean snorted just the lightest bit at the memories. "I was aggressive enough for both of us. But he did have his moments. He's always been… kind of a rebel. Real stubborn. I guess I'd say that he was less aggressive and more of a stubborn nerd. Like you."

The last thing he said caught her off guard. "E-Excuse me? 'Like _me_ '?" she stammered. "I may be stubborn, but I'd hardly call myself a nerd."

"You read books don't you?"

Frankie scoffed, a defiant smirk fluttering onto her face. "I'd hardly say that qualifies as criteria."

"See? You use big words and grammar. Total nerd."

Frankie rolled her eyes, rule number two ignored. They had a fleeting moment of content silence, both crossing their arms and standing in front of each other with quickly fading smiles.

Dean raised his eyes up to the girl and watched as her smirk shrank into a ghost of a smile. He noticed, especially when talking about him, that she reminded him a lot of their brother.

"You're a lot like him," he said out loud. This also caught Frankie by surprise. She lifted her brows up at him, her eyes widening into a faintly shocked expression.

"I am?"

"Yeah. Stubborn, of course. And you whine a lot. And you take a punch like a girl." Frankie quietly chuckled. "But… you go after what you want. Like training yourself in the woods. And all those times you did the opposite of what I told you. You know what you want and don't care when people tell you that you can't have it. It's an _annoying_ trait, but one you and Sam both have."

Frankie looked up at Dean with a smile in both her face and her eyes. She was touched at both the compliment he gave her and the way he talked about Sam. He really did care a lot about him. She couldn't image what pain he had to go through to watch him walk out of his life, possibly for good.

"Thank you for telling me that," she softly spoke. Dean returned her thanks with a light smile and an even lighter snort.

Then, in a quick moment, he sighed and wiped the look off of his face. "Shoot," he ordered, indicating that her break was over and class was back in session.


	17. Chapter 16 - Harmless

**A/N: Here's a little brother/sister bonding in the familial theme of Thanksgiving weekend before the real shit breaks loose! :D As always, thank you all so, so much for your support, be it favorite, follow, or review! Y'all are too cool!**

 **Update (12-2-18): Finals have put me behind on the chapter. I plan to finish by the next weekend, but if I'm satisfied enough I may post it early due to inconvenience. So sorry, and I hope those of you that have finals get through them well!**

* * *

"Devil's trap."

"Good. This one?"

"Heptagram."

"Good. This?"

"Uh… quin-… quincunx."

"This one?"

"Possession… prevention?"

"Seriously? This one is so easy."

"Oh shit, yeah. _Anti_ -possession."

Dean shook his head as he placed down another card onto the table. He randomly selected another card from the deck in his hands and looked at the symbol before holding it up to Frankie across from him.

"How 'bout this one?"

Frankie squinted at the drawing. She knew the symbol. She had stayed up for hours the night before studying the ones Dean had picked out for her. However, this one simply slipped from her mind.

"Uh… um… that one… is… it's definitely… uh…"

"C'mon. You need to know this one. It's important," Dean urged. Frankie pursed her lips with a shake of her head as she stared wide eyed at the unfamiliar symbol.

"Anti-possession number two?" she helplessly answered. Dean's face fell to a rather unamused expression.

"Does this look like an anti-possession symbol to you?" he asked. Frankie shrugged. Dean rolled his eyes with a sigh before turning the card so both of them could see it. "This is an angel banishing sigil. It's very useful. Learn it." He handed Frankie the card instead of placing it with the others. The girl took it and stared down at the circle with strange symbols inside and around it.

While studying up on the symbols Dean gave her, Frankie wondered if any of them gave her a clue about the symbols on her machete. Of course they didn't. They were simple symbols that were of use out on hunts, not for enchantment or spells. Frankie had thought about looking for a book on spells and runes in the study, but she had been so preoccupied with learning the symbols Dean gave her that she didn't get a minute to even look. She had been studying so long that she passed out with the cards on her chest.

She looked at every squiggle of the angel banishing sigil and marked them in her brain. She grabbed a nearby blank index card and practiced drawing the symbol with a pen. "Now you gotta remember," Dean added, "this has to be drawn with blood. You gotta slice your hand and paint it on a wall or a door and then," he slammed his hand on the table, making Frankie jump, "slap your hand on the drawing to banish angels in the blast zone. You got that?"

Frankie nodded her head in understanding as she finished the drawing. It was messy, but it looked vaguely enough like Dean's. Then, as she looked down at the symbol, she furrowed her brows in deep thought before lifting her eyes up to the man across from her.

"Why do we need this spell so much?" she asked. "I mean, I know angels aren't saints, but are they really dangerous? I know you say they're bad… or rather, what was the word you used? Dicks?"

Dean snorted before giving a small sigh through his nostrils. "You'd think they'd be harmless, right? Nah. They're old and cranky celestial beings that don't take any crap from humans. They see us as… flawed, y'know? Messy, I guess." Frankie nodded as if she understood. "They can pack a punch, I'll tell ya that. They don't really like us and make sure we know it. That's why we need this sigil."

Frankie returned her eyes to the symbol in her hands. She fiddled with a thought in her head for a few moments, tapping her fingers against the card, before taking in a breath and looking back at Dean. "If angels are real uptight…," she started, but she didn't finish her question. It was one she had been mulling around with for a while. It had remained dormant since she first met Jimmy. Though with all that had been going on recently, she didn't know if it was the right time to ask.

"Is that supposed to be a question or something?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at the suddenly silent girl. She sucked in a breath with a light shake of her head.

"Uh, yeah… uh… well I was just wondering… y'know… if angels are as bad as you say, then how did you become friends with Castiel?" She immediately noticed a shift in Dean's attitude. "Y'know, before he turned his nose up at you like a week old ham."

The man was quiet. He was quiet for a while. Frankie began to think she hit a sore spot in him before he gave a hefty sigh and looked down at the table. "It doesn't matter. What he was, he ain't anymore. End of story. Now, what's this one?"

Dean held up yet another symbol, but Frankie didn't focus on it. She looked passed the index card at the vaguely downcast expression across from her. Frankie scanned every line of his face. He couldn't hide from her. She could see right passed his hard exterior. She knew it was bugging him that Castiel practically turned his back on him and, even though it wasn't any of her business, wanted to do whatever she could to cheer him up.

"I don't really have any experience in this kind of stuff. I wasn't really a… well, a popular girl. I never really had friends. Close acquaintances, sure. People I'd talk to in class if we sat next to each other, but I never really… y'know, got to hang out with people."  
Frankie chewed on her lips before inhaling and continuing. "I do know what it's like to lose people, though. I know loss. I can't imagine how it must be to lose your friend and your brother in the same week."

"Geez, Frankie. Can we not do this?"

The girl immediately halted her attempt and averted her eyes from her brother. "Sorry. I just wanted to… I dunno, make a connection."

"Yeah, well you need to study. We're on training time. Just because it's raining an ocean outside, that don't mean you can slack off. Now what's this one?"

"Zoroastrian symbol," she muttered, fiddling with her finger nails to avoid looking at the man across the table.

Dean glanced up at Frankie when he heard her disheartened voice. He saw how she avoided raising her eyes unless it was to look at the card in his hand. He suppressed a loud sigh. That girl was going to be the end of him. He couldn't deal with all this emotional stuff. This was the problem with training a female hunter. Dean couldn't do it. If Frankie was short for Franklin things would be a lot simpler, but it had to be Francine.

If Frankie was a guy, he could get away with pushing her and telling her to man up, but for some reason it was harder to tell it to her face. It was difficult to tell her to get over it when she accidently cut her hand with a knife, and it was difficult to tell her to keep up her exercises for another hour because she broke rule number two. Sometimes, Dean wondered if it was Frankie's fault for being a girl or his fault for not being able to discipline her like a man.

It should be easy for him. It should be second nature to want to smack her in the back of the head when she made a stupid decision or to call her an idiot for injuring herself because she wasn't paying attention – after all, he had done it with Sam – but it wasn't. For some reason, even though she deserved the discipline, he found it hard to deliver.

Even looking at her now, he felt a strong need to man up himself and have her talk about feelings with him, but he couldn't do that. He agreed to be her teacher, so he had to show her what she had to become. No more emotional stuff. No Dr. Phil moments. That wasn't what hunting was about.

"Dean," she peeped. The man straightened his shoulders in attention after coming out of his thoughts. He hummed. "I… I don't mean to keep on the subject of Castiel… but-"

"I'm gunna stop you there." He wasn't having none of that. "Save the question for after your exercises. Right now, tell me what this is."

Frankie shifted her eyes over to the pale card in front of her face. She gave a deep sigh and adjusted herself in her seat. "Demon warding sigil."

"Good. Moving on," he grunted, placing the cards to the side. "Have you been working on your exorcism?"

He watched as Frankie's eyes slightly widened in almost panic. "Uh, yeah," she answered. Dean could clearly tell that she was lying.

"Alright. Give it to me." He stared at the girl expectantly, unwavering and stoic. Frankie shuffled slightly in her chair as she mustered every word from her memory.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, uh… omnis satanica protestas-"

" _Po_ testas."

"Right, right. Potestas, omnis legio, omnis… uh… congre-congreatio et secta diabolica… uh… um, cessa decipere-"

"You skipped some." Frankie flicked her eyes up to the man with slight worry. She couldn't remember what she had skimmed over. Dean sighed helplessly. "Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te. You haven't been studying."

"I'm sorry. I _was_ studying, but then I had to study the symbols and then I fell asleep so I tried to cram before my workout but I forgot most of it halfway through and-"

"Hey, it's fine. Just learn it, okay? It might be the only thing between life and death one day. You never know." Frankie looked defeated. She had wanted to impress him with her ability to remember, but she already had so much to study that it turned into an overload of information. Dean assumed he should let up on the load a bit, but once she got through these few things, she'd be set for a while. They were just the basics. "C'mon. I'll go over it with you." Suddenly, Frankie's defeated face melted away into a relieved and grateful one. Dean started the exorcism up, talking slowly so she picked up on every inflection. "Ergo, omnis legio-"

And then Frankie joined him, both speaking Latin in unison. "Diabolica adiuramus te, cessa decipere humanas creaturas…"

They went over the incantation over and over again until Frankie could recite half without flaw. He was really impressed with her quick memory, but assumed it had something to do with her being a bookworm. Memorization probably came easy to her. Whatever the reason, he was glad that she was making great progress.

Just as she had started another round of recitation, Bobby made an appearance by coming in from the rain. His jacket was drenched, but he was dry underneath, which he displayed by setting his soaked jacket on the rack.

"Hey Bobby," Dean and Frankie said in unison.

"Dean. I need to speak with you."

Both Dean and Frankie narrowed their brows at that. If Bobby didn't greet them back that usually meant something was wrong, and since he was calling for just Dean that meant something was _really_ wrong.

"Yeah, one sec." Dean rose out of his chair, but before he could walk over to the man in the next room Frankie regained his attention. He didn't want to just leave her with nothing to do during class time. He scanned his brain for a few moments before holding up a finger and walking into the study. He grabbed the gun Frankie had been using to practice shooting and dropped it in front of her on the table with a clank. "Take this apart piece by piece. Then put it back together. When you're done, it needs to work or you'll do it again, you understand?"

Frankie's face was nothing short of exasperated, but she complied like a good student. "Can I have a screwdriver or something?"

Dean had a momentary thoughtful expression before patting his body. His hand finally clutched around a small knife and he pulled it out of his pocket with a light toss in his hand. "Here. This should work fine." And then he was off after Bobby before he could see the incredulous look on Frankie's face.

Bobby led Dean outside onto the porch, the shower pouring around them hissing through the air. "What's up?" Dean asked the man next to him.

Bobby placed his hands on his hips with a heavy sigh as he looked out across his property, shaded by thick, grey clouds. "Demons are what's up. Just on the outside of town." Dean cursed under his breath as he crossed his arms, mirroring Bobby by looking out to the rusted, leaning gate across the way. "Not sure how many. Bodies have been turnin' up since yesterday, as well as some missin' ones, too."

"How many are confirmed dead?"

"Eh, 'bout six so far."

"Dammit."

"None are inside the town border, though. All have been just outside."

"Think they might be trying to drag us out?"

"Could be."

Dean was quiet, mulling in thought before turning to the man. "Think it might be seal related?"

"One way to find out," Bobby answered with a shake of his head.

"Right. We'll take my car. I just gotta restock her, then we'll head out."

"What about th' kid?"

Dean pressed his lips together, turning around so that he was looking through the window at Frankie. He watched from afar as she squinted closely at the gun in her hands. He could practically make out the swears on her lips as she struggled to use the knife as a screwdriver. "She'll be fine. She's a big girl. 'Sides, we shouldn't be gone long."

"You don't know that. Anything could happen. Hell, us shanghaiin' out there might be exactly what they want. Think she'll manage without us fer that long?"

"Yeah, sure. She knows enough to keep herself protected. And if there's too many, she's got the panic room."

He saw Bobby nod in agreement in the corner of his eye, but he didn't look back over to the older man. His eyes remained glued onto Frankie. His brows narrowed as he watched the girl, taking note of every detail he hadn't previously noticed – most likely due to her talking the whole time.

Dean couldn't believe that he didn't notice it before, but her stubbornness and nerd ways weren't the only things that reminded him of Sam. She looked like him, too. Not necessarily in the face – though they did share a few features – but in their little quirks. The way that Frankie whipped her head to move the hair out of her face was just how Sam did with his own long hair. The way she gave those puppy dog eyes when she knew she did something wrong or stepped over the line was all too much like his brother. But she still held a sort of spunky innocence that Sam lost long ago. In a way, Frankie was just like Sam when he was a kid. God… did he miss that kid.

" _Dean_."

He was brought out of his realization at the rough sound of Bobby standing next to him. "Huh?" He was met with a bemused look from the wrinkled face. "Sorry, I was just… what'd you say?"

Bobby pressed his lips together in impatience before speaking evenly with the younger man. "It don't matter. Let's just get this done."

Dean nodded before Bobby took off back into the house to grab what was needed for the trip. Dean followed closely behind. Frankie spared a look over to the men, but didn't say anything and just went right back to taking apart the gun. Dean walked over to the girl to check on how she was doing.

Gun parts were strewn about the table in little neat piles. The smallest parts were in one group, the small ones were in another, and the larger, more identifiable parts like the cylinder were placed to the side. Dean was pretty impressed with her organization. Of course, he couldn't really be surprised, seeing how put together the study was because of her.

"Hey, once you're done with that you can go ahead and call it a day."

"Really?" the girl asked, puzzlement in her voice as well as a slight hint of relief. "Two hours early?"

"Yeah. Me and Bobby gotta take care of some business outside of town, so we'll be gone for a bit. Once you've finished that go ahead and relax. Call it a half-day."

Dean tried to ignore the curious glint in Frankie's eyes, even when she asked the question he knew she'd ask. "What kind of business? Hunting business?" The moment Dean hesitated, Frankie's face spite into an interested grin.

"No, you can't come," the man answered before she could even get the words out.

"But Dean, this could be my first hunt! It could be like my class assessment!"

"Frankie, it's too dangerous. You're not trained enough for this. You know that. You couldn't even hit a car window that was fifteen feet in front of you."

The girl deflated in his seat, resting her crossed arms on the table as she put on an indignant expression. "Do you have to rub it in?" The man gave a smug shrug. "At least tell me the case. Please."

"Demons. Did you expect anything else? Some bodies turned up dead and missing outside of town. We're gunna check if it's got seals written on it. I want ya to stay here and don't leave the house. You never know if some of their buddies might show up here." Frankie visibly shuddered. When Bobby came back downstairs and motioned for Dean to hurry up, the younger man grabbed his jacket and backed up towards the door while maintaining eye contact with his student. "Now what do you do if a demon shows up?"

"Salt the windows and doors and run down to the panic room," the girl monotonously recited as if it were drilled into her skull.

"Good. We'll be back soon. Er… soon enough. Don't die."

"Oh, I'll give it my all," Frankie sarcastically assured with a thumbs up.

With a final half-smile from her brother, Dean and Bobby were gone in the Impala, off to kill demons outside of Sioux Falls. Frankie was left alone for the first time in a while, and while she would have loved that weeks ago, now it was more lonely than comforting.

It was well past sundown when Frankie finally got the gun to fire. It took two times of pulling it apart and a lot of swears, but it finally sent a shot that echoed far into the woods.

With her training over and done with for the day, Frankie resumed her normal everyday activities. She washed the dirty dishes, swept the floors, polished the guns on the walls, did the laundry, folded the clothes, and took a shower.

Chores done, Frankie went back upstairs to try to call Adam again. She took out her new phone from the bag. It was more advanced than the one she broke days ago. Dean gave it to her, but she didn't ask questions, though she assumed it was stolen.

She tried for Adam, but she was once again met with his voicemail. She didn't leave a message this time. He must have been busy with college.

After all that was done, she curled up on the couch in the study, buried in a blanket and reading a thick book by the flickering fireplace. She scanned page after page, but when she got about one fourth into the text, she had a sudden moment of clarity. "Wait. What am I doing?" She slammed the book closed and set it aside before hurriedly running into the kitchen to retrieve her notebook and taking out the page with the mysterious symbols on it. Now that she wasn't studying up on useful symbols and sigils, she had the time to research what was really bugging her without the threat of Dean or Bobby finding out.

Frankie stalked around the study, plucking every book or text she could with symbols and runes of any kind. She had a feeling it would take a while to figure out the meaning, so she made herself a plate of leftovers, setting it on the TV tray as she delved into the world of strange circles and squiggles with hidden meaning.

* * *

Two and a half hours of searching and she came up short. She only managed to uncover one of the symbols' meanings and it was a dinky protection spell. While that was neat, it was far from uncovering the mystery of the machete's existence.

Frankie sat back on the couch and rubbed her eyes. How could she have gone through fifteen books and not find anything explaining how it could kill demons? Maybe that was a rare find. Or maybe no one ever thought to write down a spell for enchanting a demon killing device. Dicks.

Frankie was growing tiresome of the uncertainty. Far too long she had been wondering about the damn blade. Why couldn't the answer just fall into her lap? That would save her a lot of stress and headaches.

She rubbed her temples in hard, little circles. There was a distinct pulsation behind her eyes that she couldn't escape. It seemed like the only way she would escape it was if she figured out what she didn't already know about her mother, but unfortunately there were more important things to worry about. She'd find out in time. Or… that's what she told herself.

Frankie spent her time placing each book back into their designated stacks and shelves, all the while reciting the exorcism under her breath. "Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei…"

As she stammered through the last half of the exorcism, all Frankie could think about was her brother. The last few days had been… educational. Dean was not a lenient teacher, that was for sure. He pushed her passed her limits and made sure she knew when she screwed up, even if it was the tiniest mistake. Frankie knew it was all so that she could be a good hunter, but every scold he gave her for trivial matters only made her want to beat him upside the head with a meat tenderizer.

She was sure that violent thoughts about those who pushed her around would only please him. It was a sign that she was toughening up, but she had preferred it when she didn't have passing fantasies of mutilating her brother. The very thought sent a chill down her spine.

As she placed the last book back in its stack, Frankie tried to block the negative thoughts by remembering the good moments of being Dean's student. When she was praised, which she wished would happen more often, it was an exhilarating feeling. It meant that she did something truly right and it impressed him enough to make a note about it.

She recalled a moment when they were practicing unsheathing a weapon on a whim and she had provided excellent form when doing the exercise. Whether it was a small knife, handgun, or her machete, she had perfect posture each time. Dean was so impressed that he cut that exercise short to work on her weaker areas. It gave Frankie such a high that she didn't come down from it until she laid her head down on the pillow that night.

There was a lot about Dean being her mentor that she admired. The most adamant of the list was, of course, that he was doing it with no gain for himself. Whether she came out of his class successful or not, it wouldn't affect him directly. He was teaching her out of the goodness of his heart, and that knowledge was the driving force behind her not mouthing off to him like she had the first day. She would take any punch, she would stay out for hours after class time passed, and she would do whatever he said if it meant she could simply be praised again.

Dean was a really nice guy when she stripped away his arrogance, unassailable aura, and overall perfectionist teaching habits. She wanted to do something nice for him. Of course, she didn't know a thing about what he liked, even after spending so much time with him lately. So she came to the good ol' southern conclusion. The one gift no one can deny is the gift of food.

Her mind made up, she sauntered into the kitchen, reeling her mind for a dish to make her brother. She was quite the cook, so she didn't fear him not liking her cooking, but the main issue at hand was choosing a dish that was special enough to him. She couldn't just fix him any random dish.

Frankie decided to look through Bobby's cookbooks to see if any ideas came to her. Among the few books was one specifically for deserts. _'Of course!'_ she internally exclaimed. _'We don't usually eat deserts. A sweet treat is perfect!'_ However, picking the right dish was an important decision. She had to choose wisely. It was a hard one to make, and she had no idea what he liked.

Frankie ultimately made up her mind to look inside herself and make one of her own favorite deserts from when she baked with her mother. She still remembered the recipe for pecan pie by heart. The main issue now was if Bobby had all the ingredients.

Fortunately, Bobby had most of the ingredients right at her disposal. He even had the one item she was concerned about: the pie crust. She was honestly surprised to see one in the back of the fridge. Bobby didn't usually bake, so she wondered why he kept one at the ready in the back. Oh, well. The good thing was that there was one that wasn't moldy ready for baking. The bad thing was that it was crumbly and slightly broken at the bottom, but, hell, she'd worked miracles before.

An hour later, the entire house was filled with the homey, sweet scent of a freshly baked pecan pie. Frankie was in a state of utter bliss. She sat next to a warm, cozy fireplace with a good book in her lap with a familiar smell wafting around her. The only thing that would make it truly feel like her old home would be a familiar humming from the kitchen.

Her blissful smile faded as quickly as the memory entered her mind. Why did she have to ruin another great moment by bringing up the past? She couldn't stop her misting eyes if she tried. "Damn… fucking tears. Not now, you bastards," she breathed, wiping her fingers under her eyes to stop the tears before they fell.

It was especially a bad time when she heard the distant purr of Dean's Impala driving up to the house. A surge of panic struck in her chest as she saw the headlights scurry across the walls. "Oh, damn!" she quietly yelped as if they could have heard her from outside.

She hurried into the kitchen to shove on her oven mitts. The presentation of the pie had to be absolutely perfect or she'd die. Well… not die. But she'd be very disappointed that she didn't give it her all. Maybe Dean's perfectionism was rubbing off on her.

The oven finally beeped when the front door opened. She quickly opened the oven and reached for the pie, ignoring the sudden cloud of heat stinging her eyes. "We're back!" Bobby called from the other room.

' _Shit!'_ Frankie thought, laying the pie on top of the placemat.

"You smell that, too, right?" Dean's voice piped up.

Frankie quickly threw the oven mitts off to the side, not knowing where they landed and not caring. She righted her hair and wiped her sweaty hands on her apron before putting on a sickeningly sweet smile as Dean and Bobby entered.

Though she didn't need to force the smile when she saw the look on Dean's face.

"Welcome back, guys," she chimed, beaming from ear to ear as her brother practically drooled at the sight of the dish in between them.

"Pie," he said. Frankie stifled a giggle at his surprise. Suddenly, his eyes flicked up to meet her own. "You made pie." Frankie nodded her head at her brother, not entirely sure if it was a question.

For a while, the man simply stood there, dirty and tired from his trip but paralyzed at the sight of a freshly baked pecan pie waiting for him when he walked through the door. "Well ya gunna eat it or stand there catching flies?" Frankie chuckled.

She didn't need to tell him twice before he practically threw himself into a chair at the table. Frankie was already preparing the three of them slices when Dean spoke up, his voice somehow confused. "Why'd you make us pie? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm… hell, I'm speechless. Pie is, like, my favorite thing _ever_."

Frankie looked over to him with a wide grin on her face as she slid a slice over to Bobby. She got it right after all. "Well… I made it as sort of a… a peace offering, y'know? I know I haven't been the easiest student at times, and… well I wanted to thank you for taking the time to teach me even though I can be sort of a pain. It means a lot."

Frankie could really tell what emotion was going on under the excitement for pie, but whatever it was wasn't negative. "Sort of?" he teased with one of his usual smirks. Frankie playfully sneered at his joke. At least she hoped it was a joke. "Nah, but really, this is… this is nice. We don't get things like this often. I could _really_ get used to it." Frankie cut a nice big slice just for Dean and plopped it down on a plate, relishing in the sight of Dean borderline swooning at the action. "A day of tracking and ganking a bunch of demons, come back to a warm house, everything's clean, there's pie… y'know," he sighed, causing the girl to pause her actions. "You're alright, Franks." Frankie's cheeks burned with how much she was smiling. There was the praise she had yearned for so much.

"Aw, well aren't you two cute," Bobby teasingly cooed from the other end of the table. "So nice to see you kids gettin' along." Frankie giggled at the man as Dean cleared his throat, wiping the praising look off of his face.

"Well am I gunna get a slice or are you gunna continue the torture?"

Frankie playfully rolled her eyes as she handed Dean his long awaited slice of pecan pie. She didn't dare take a bite out of her own piece in fear of missing a single moment of Dean's reaction. She watched intently as he poked off a bite with his fork and shoved it in his mouth.

If one didn't know he had just eaten pie, one would think he would have been drugged. The man practically melted into the chair as the flavor spread onto his tongue, his eyes rolling back in his head. " _Oh_ … my _god_!" he exclaimed through the morsels in his mouth. Frankie couldn't contain the light bounce in her leg as the joy of Dean's enjoyment of her food became clear. "Oh my… oh… oh god," he continued. His utterances became more suggestive sounding the more he ate his slice.

Frankie closed her eyes and shook her head with a bright grin as she leaned over to the man, outstretching her hand and patting him on the arm. "Keep it in your pants, man."

As Dean contained himself to only a few moans of delight as he ate, Frankie and Bobby enjoyed their slices at a normal level, smiles on their faces, knowledge of demons and the empty seat at the table behind them as they focused on a good southern dish for a few moments in their dying world.

* * *

"So where'd you learn to cook?"

Frankie tried for another spark, but the old thing wouldn't give. The aged wires weren't as volatile as newer cars. Finally putting aside her hotwiring, Frankie shifted her head so that she could see Dean leaning against the car.

"Self-taught. Many nights home alone. A girl's gotta eat." Frankie immediately tried for another spark and the car burst to life. She let out a puff of a laugh at her success.

"Hey, that's the fifth time you've started it up. I think you've got the jist."

Frankie poked her head out of the car and sent him a quirked brow. "I won't learn without repetition. You know that."

"Look, all I'm sayin' is we ain't got all day to hotwire Junker cars, alright? We've got other things to go over."

"Oh yeah?" Frankie wiggled herself out of the twisted state in the car until she exited it with a grunt. "What's that? More hand to hand? 'Cause my knuckles are still sore."

"Nah, nah. Nothing like that. This one's much more important."

Dean motioned with his head for Frankie to follow him and she did so after closing the Junker's door. She caught up with him and walked next to him as they made their way through the car piles.

"So what's this important exercise you've got lined up?"

"Well think. What is it that you do on a hunt?" Frankie narrowed her brows. She could think of plenty of things one would do, but to pick one she had to give it a thought. "It's so easy."

"Research?"

Dean pressed his lips into a line as he stopped and turned to the girl. She mirrored him. His shoulders were slack as he reached into his pocket and grabbed Frankie's hand. "Hunt." He smacked the revolver into her hand and withdrew his own, leaving the girl to stare down at the weapon.

"Ah, yes. That… that would make sense."

Dean snorted and straightened his shoulders, a clear sign that he had transitioned into teacher Dean. "Today you're gunna work on your tracking and quick action. With this gun, you are gunna hunt."

Frankie flicked her eyes up to her brother, slightly unsure about what he was getting at, but also having the hint of an idea. "What am I hunting?"

Dean gave the girl a smirk as he pulled out his own gun. "Whuduya think?"

Frankie stared between both guns, an uneasy feeling creeping under her skin. "Oh, Dean… I dunno…"

"Oh, come on. We've gone over hand to hand combat, how to wield a weapon, and your shooting's been gettin' better every day. Only thing left to teach is tracking."

"Yeah, but there's a difference between shooting at an old car and shooting at a human! Cars can't die!"

"Frankie, Frankie," Dean soothed, his voice having the tiniest hint of a chuckle. He opened the cylinder of his own revolver, revealing it to be empty. "No bullets. Okay? It's harmless. No one's killing anybody." Frankie still scrunched her face up in discomfort at the idea. "Look," Dean sighed, "you wanna be a hunter? Ya gotta learn to hunt. Put on your big girl britches and shake it off."

With a soulful sigh, Frankie literally shook her shoulders and arms to shove away the nervousness in her. As she did this, Dean began heading out into the maze of Junkers. "Wait," Frankie called out. "No hints or tips?"

"Nope. Thirty seconds. Then come and find me. Think of it like hide and seek." Before he disappeared behind a corner, he turned around and flashed Frankie a mischievous grin. "But with violence."

Frankie shook her head and started counting. She didn't like the idea. Not only did she have no tracking experience aside from a few pointers mentioned in other sessions, the idea of pointing a gun at her brother and pretending to kill him did not sit right with her. As she counted under her breath, she checked her gun to make sure there were no bullets in it. And she checked it again as she finished counting, and a third and final time before walking into the junkyard after Dean.

As she held her gun low and ready, Frankie slowly stepped around corners and pressed herself behind cars to look out for her hiding brother. _'I don't know what I'm doing. I don't even know what the hell I'm supposed to be looking for!'_

Suddenly, her ears picked up on the uncommon sound of something softly hitting against a metal surface. Her eyes darted over in the direction she heard it. "That'll be it," she mumbled lowly.

Frankie weaved her way through the towers of cars and tip toed over the noisy gravel, careful not to alert her brother of her presence. Frankie whipped her head in all directions, looking for the slightest clue of Dean's tracks.

And then she heard a slightly louder sound. Down a long aisle of cars, she heard the sound of something being thrown against a Junker. It had to be Dean. In all the time she spent out there, the only sounds that came from the cars were the animals living in them, and even then they kept quiet. The main issue at hand was that it was a long, empty corridor and she would be perfectly exposed. If Dean was hiding somewhere nearby, he'd spot her for sure.

A crash the likes of a bolt of thunder blared right next to her head. She let out a roof shaking howl as the fear of nearly being shot buzzed in her brain.

"You're dead."

Her eyes shot open. Frankie whipped around to see Dean standing behind her with his usual cocky half-smile, his fist resting on the door of the car next to them. Frankie was relieved that it was only his fist and not a bullet, but that didn't make her heart slow down any.

"You nearly put me into shock, you dick!" She was only met with haughty laughter from the man as he walked passed her.

"You had it coming. You walked passed me like three times." The girl snapped her head over to her brother, a glare that was not pointed at him resting under her brows.

"I should have followed my other senses instead of sound, huh?"

"See? Learning's fun." Frankie rolled her eyes at him while he wasn't looking. "You need to make sure you pay attention to footprints, any unusual or out of place signs, and keeping a sharp eye always helps."

"Yes sir."

"I told you to stop calling me that." Dean quirked up a lip in disgust. "Makes me feel old."

"You _are_ old."

Dean's brows shot up as he pivoted around, his head cocked in a challenged manner. "That so?"

"Yeah," Frankie nodded, walking back to the starting point with Dean following her. "You're like, what, nine years older than me? That's almost a _decade_." Frankie shook her head in mock surprise. "You're practically ancient, man."

"Mmhm," Dean hummed, a smirk growing on his face. "And how do you know you're not just really young?" It was Frankie's turn to raise her brows. "I mean, you still got baby fat."

"Dean!" Frankie shouted as she slapped him arm. "Not funny!"

"Then why am I smiling?" Frankie groaned in good humor as they reached the starting point.

Dean did as he had before and hid in the cars as Frankie counted thirty seconds. This time, she made sure to pay attention to other senses. She still listened out for sounds, but she also made note of the signs around her, too. There were car doors that were open when they were previously closed, there were exposed patches of dirt where there was once gravel covering it as well as making note of other smaller signs.

She crouched behind a corner, having a strong intuition that Dean was somewhere behind the next one. She looked around, keeping a sharp eye, before standing and slowly making her way to the other side, careful of where she placed her feet and having her unloaded gun at the ready.

She darted her eyes around, looking for the smallest glimpse of Dean. As she came up to the next corner, she pressed herself against the car door, holding her gun at chest level as she searched as keenly as a hawk. "C'mon, I know you're here," she whispered, her voice just above inaudible.

She didn't even fully blink before a familiar forearm appeared out of nowhere and wrapped around her throat. Frankie cried out, but not in surprise or pain. She wailed out in vexation from losing yet again. She lowered her gun into her lap, not even attempting to remove the arm around her neck.

"Dead."

"I know," she choked out. She ignored the smug chuckle from Dean as she stood up and turned around. Dean was sitting inside the hollowed out car she had been resting on with both of his arms hanging out of the glassless windows. "No fair!" Frankie exclaimed. "You didn't say you were gunna hide _inside_ the cars."

Dean's words were strained as he crawled through the open window of the car. "If you think monsters won't actually _hide_ when you're hunting them…," he finally planted his feet on the gravel with a huff and a roll of his shoulders, "then you ain't got any business lookin' for 'em." Frankie hesitantly nodded in understanding. "You got close, though. I'll give you that. You just had to know where to look."

"I'll keep that in mind," Frankie sighed as they headed back to the start for another round. Frankie was determined to come out victorious this time, and not Dean or his smug face would stop her.

After Dean hid and she counted, Frankie tried a different tactic and moved quicker through the maze. It increased the threat of Dean hearing her, but the way she saw it, he could hear her anyway. And in a real fight, many monsters would already have heard her before she took out her gun. Moving quicker in the exercise allowed her to at least get ahead of his expectations.

Frankie continued her same efforts of looking out for signs, periodically glancing inside cars to make sure Dean wasn't in there. This go around, Dean was harder to find. Frankie couldn't hear any little nicks against metal or shuffling gravel, she didn't see anything out of place, and there wasn't a sign of his dark blue shirt in sight. Frankie began to wonder if Dean had simply gone back to the start to embarrass her. Bastard.

But then she heard it. The light shuffling of gravel, the quiet sound of feet adjusting on the ground entered her ears. And the sound was coming from right behind her.

Frankie's eyes went wide. Her newfound instincts took action and she spun around, striking at the blow Dean nearly hit her with and deflecting it. Frankie determinedly narrowed her brows as she squeezed down on his caught wrist. She didn't waste a second before rolling his arm around his back and pushing him down into a hold.

"Not so sneaky now, are we?" she remarked as she held firmly onto the back of his neck with her other hand.

Dean didn't seem to waste a second either. Frankie felt her ankle be grabbed and pulled out from underneath her. Her balance was thrown off, and Dean leaned his weight against her. The girl tumbled backwards, her brother catching himself before he could crush her.

Suddenly, one of her wrists was pinned down and the other was not far behind. Before she lost control of it, though, she sent a quick punch to Dean's jaw. It stunned him just enough for her to push him back far enough for her to bring a leg up and kick against his chest. She ripped her held wrist out of his grasp and launched for him, but he saw it coming and rolled out of the way just before she landed on him.

She then found her arms captured and tucked behind her back, Dean's weight pressing down on them as she attempted to wriggle out of his grasp. "Give up?" he grunted, not budging an inch against her struggling.

Frankie whipped her head to the side, blowing the hair out of her eyes as she eyed the man behind her. "Never," she growled.

Dean in no way could have seen the leg rear back and hit him right where the sun didn't shine. He blocked his howl of pain behind clenched teeth, his body leaning just far enough forward for Frankie to throw her head back into his nose.

Once Dean was all sorts of thrown off, Frankie was able to squirm out of his grip and revolve around at lightning speed. As Dean was still on his knees and leaning forward, Frankie straddled his shoulders and threw her body across his back, positioning herself in a strange reverse bear hug that successfully immobilized him. But if one were to think Frankie would stop there, they would be _sorrowfully_ mistaken.

In a moment of brilliant thinking, Frankie reached down to the underwear just barely peeking above Dean's jeans and grabbed them tight. "Wait!" the man croaked before Frankie pulled on them with devilish delight.

Dean cried out in surprised anguish. He didn't need to try hard to throw Frankie off thanks to her being in a laughing fit, clutching her sides and rolling on the ground as she cackled and snorted like a joyful hog. Dean growled and scowled at the chortling girl at his feet as he righted his underwear in its intended position.

"You are a child," he barked, giving his unmentionables a last rub to ease the soreness. "It's not funny."

Frankie stilled her guffawing for a split second as she smirked a delinquent smile up at him. "Then why am I laughing?"

"'Cause you're an immature little girl, that's why." Frankie heaved with stifled laughs behind a struggling grin. "Get up," Dean indignantly commanded. "We gotta get back to work."

"Oh, you're no fun," Frankie moaned with a half-smile and standing to her feet. She met eyes with Dean, a newfound challenging glint in his eyes.

"Oh, it's fun you want, huh?" Dean shook his head with pursed lips. "Saddle up, Franks. I'll show you fun."

"Yeah, whatever," Frankie teasingly sighed, turning around to go back to the start. Dean's eyes flicked to her discarded gun at his feet. It must have flown off of her when she attacked him.

A smirk spread on his lips.

Dean caught up to her at the start of the maze and gave her gun back. "Don't lose it this time," he commanded. Frankie nodded without attitude, keeping to the rules, before the man was off and gone into the forest of cars.

Frankie did the exact same formula as last time. She made her way quickly through the maze, ducking and peeking around corners before moving her feet in a constant pace. She would get him this time, just like the time before.

She still couldn't believe she actually won their little spar. She would have thought he'd overpower her in an instant, but either she had a natural talent for ass kicking or he was going easy on her. Either way, she got to give Dean a wedgie, and she'd take that victory back with her.

Frankie stalked around, following his little signs here and there. It led her around another corner. She hid behind it for a total of three seconds, listening in for anything before peeking around the hood of the car.

And there he was! His back turned and slowly making his own way to a corner. Not on her watch. With a grin stretching her cheeks till they were pink, Frankie stepped from behind the car to her full height, her gun aligned directly at the man straight ahead.

"You're dead!" she announced. Dean turned around to face her before Frankie pulled the trigger as if she were actually firing at him.

The deafening gunshot caught her as much by surprise as it hurt her ears. Her eyes clamped shut to somehow ease the ringing surging in her head. _'What the hell!'_ she screamed in her head. At least she thought it was in her head. She thought the guns weren't loaded.

And then her eyes snapped open. She though the guns _weren't loaded_. Her eyes snapped up to her brother, her eyes instantly misting over in shock once the smoke around her cleared.

Dean stood hunched over, a hand clutched over his stomach. Frankie tried for a gasp, but even her lungs were in a state of utter shock. The man's head slowly lifted up to the girl, his eyes unfocused as he stumbled a few steps back.

Frankie was no longer in the junkyard at Bobby's house. She was suddenly transported to the old abandoned house from her nightmare many nights ago. She was staring directly ahead at what was supposed to be the Green Ghost, but it was instead her brother with a fresh bullet hole in his head. A bullet hole in his head that was placed there by her own gun.

The revolver had long fallen out of her hand. A violent tremble overtook her body. No. No, oh god, no. She couldn't. She didn't. She didn't just shoot her brother. No, no, no! Her eyes pooled with anguished tears, flooding and streaming down her face like a spilled glass in each pupil. Her nightmare had come alive, her fears realized. She killed her brother.

"Ha! Got you!"

It seemed like Frankie's entire being, soul and all, froze when Dean's face relaxed and his arms spread out to reveal no bullet hole or blood in sight. Frankie didn't dare move, the threat of this being a hallucination all too possible.

"You should see your face! God, you freaked out quick." Frankie still didn't move as the man walked closer to her, his face growing more and more arrogant with each step. "Blanks in your gun. No real bullets. That'll teach you to wedgie me."

Frankie couldn't even breathe.

"Hey, I'm alright," Dean assured when she didn't react. "It was a joke. I got you back, get it? Now we're even."

" _That wasn't funny, Dean_!"

Dean jumped back from both surprise and Frankie's hands shoving him. Her screech in his face paired with the infuriated glare she sported struck a bit of fear into even him. He stared confusedly at the girl's sleek face before she clamped her quivering lips shut and stormed passed him, shoving his shoulder with her own as she went.

"Hey, it was a _joke_ , Frankie!" he shouted, but it hit deaf ears as she ran out of the junkyard.

Dean was at a loss. _He_ thought it was funny, and a helluva good way to get back at her for humiliating him. It was a harmless joke! If he had done that to Sam _he'd_ have found it funny.

But he supposed that was the thing. She wasn't Sam. Despite her being a lot like him and having similar quirks and reminding Dean of the good times they used to have as kids, she wasn't Sam. She'd never be Sam. And maybe that was a good thing.

He supposed his tougher self developed a more raunchy sense of humor over the years. Not very suitable for a younger, underdeveloped hunter. He could only guess that thinking she shot her brother for a moment before revealing that he was only faking would not be her humor.

He knew he needed to say something to her. The joke was in pretty bad taste if he thought about it. He couldn't just leave her like that.

It didn't take too long to find her. She was sitting on a discarded bench from a gutted car not too far from their training grounds. He sighed as he took note of her quaking shoulders. It must have really screwed her up.

She heard him approach her and turned around. "Go away, Dean," her shaky voice croaked. "I don't wanna talk you."

"Yeah, well, sucks to be you," he grunted as he plopped himself the bench next to her. The two were quiet for a few moments, Frankie trying to calm her raving emotions and Dean trying to find words that wouldn't make things worse. "Look, I wanna say sorry for that joke back there. If you call it a joke. It was pretty lousy to begin with. Blanks, right?"

Frankie shot him a sideways glare that shut up his jesting tone. He cleared his throat as he turned his head to look over the purpling sky. "That was completely uncalled for," Frankie sighed, her voice quiet to ease the trembling in it.

"I know," Dean sighed. "I thought you could take it. My sense of humor is kinda… well it can be dark sometimes. Guess you have to get used to it is all."

"Get used to it?" Frankie scoffed, two tears racing each other to her chin. "Get used to thinking I almost shot my own brother? Get used to watching him die at my hands? You want me to get used to _that_?"

Dean averted his eyes from her wet cheeks and pink nose. "Well, when you say it like that…," he half chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood but failing miserably. Frankie swallowed the scowl she wanted to throw at him. In response to her emotional state, Dean reverted to his tough instinct, hardening his skin in response to her soft one. "Look, let this be an example for you. If you're gunna be hanging around hunters, you gotta get used to how they act."

" _Hunting monst_ ers and _being an asshole_ are two completely different things, Dean." Dean clenched his jaw at her snarling tone. "Did you think I would find that amusing? Did it not once pass through your thick fucking skull that I might stay awake at night, scared of what I might accidently do with a gun?" Dean's eyes flicked over to the girl, his brows furrowed in an emotion that wasn't anger. "Do you not concern yourself with considering how broken I would be if I did anything to hurt you?"

They met eyes, red and swollen against guilty and hard. Dean wanted to avert his eyes, but he saw looking into her saddened ones as punishment for being so careless with his actions. He opened his mouth to say something – sorry maybe – but nothing came out.

He ultimately resulted to doing the only comforting thing he could provide. He placed a soft hand her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he finally mustered. Apparently, it was enough for the girl.

She leaned into Dean, her head resting on his shoulder. He didn't know what to do. The hand that was on her shoulder was suspended in air. He was almost afraid to touch her in fear of it triggering another emotional response.

Eventually, he maned up and brought his arm down to wrap around the still shaking girl. It would be a few more seconds before he relaxed and tucked her closer to him. "I know things are pretty messed up right now. My jokes ain't helping much. But… I get it." Dean felt Frankie sigh against his side. "There's a lot on the line when you become a hunter. You're not just worrying about yourself. You're worrying about those around you or those you need to protect. You never know what's gunna happen.

"But there's a bright side. You don't gotta worry about me." Frankie spared a confused glance up at Dean. He nodded down to her. "Anything happens to me the angels will just zap me back to life. They've done it before. I'm like candy to them."

Frankie sniffled before speaking up in a clearer voice. "No way."

"Yeah way," Dean remarked with playfully narrowed eyebrows. "I've died before. Believe it or not."

"I don't believe it."

"How do you think I met Cas?" Frankie's eyes widened at the mention of the angel. Dean remembered that she took an interest in him the other day. "What was that thing you wanted to ask me about him the other day?"

Frankie opened to mouth to speak, but she hesitated. "It doesn't matter. Don't worry about it."

"No, c'mon. I feel like an ass for makin' you cry and all. Go ahead and ask."

Frankie pursed her lips before sighing and adjusting herself on his shoulder. "Remember the demons at that warehouse? Y'know, the first time I saw Castiel?"

"Yeah."

"Remember that look he gave me before he left."

Dean nodded before speaking. "I do."

"Well… what do you think that was about?"

"No idea. Never seen him do that before. Well… except the first time I met him. He looked at me like it was like first time he'd seen a human before. Maybe it was, I dunno. Don't have a clue why he'd look at you like that."

Frankie was quiet for a small while. "Think it might be a positive thing?"

Dean shrugged, making Frankie's head bob along with it. "Anyone's guess. I'd say ask him, but… he's kinda Heaven's poster boy right now."

Dean was honestly at a loss with that look Cas gave Frankie. He was a weird guy – that was for sure – but not that weird. It wasn't like he hadn't seen a girl before, he'd seen plenty of them. The look he gave Frankie was still a mystery. It probably would have been solved by now had Cas not re-tightened his ass. There was one thing for sure, though. It probably wasn't a good thing.

"Hey Dean?" Frankie peeped.

"Mmhm?" he hummed, bringing himself out of his thoughts.

"I just… I wanted to say sorry about… not having thicker skin. I know this is uncomfortable for you to comfort me like this."

"What?" Dean exclaimed, adjusting his shoulder so that he was looking at Frankie in the face. "Look, I'm not made of stone, alright? I just want what's best for you… y'know as a teacher. I know if you become a hunter, you're gunna meet people who're even worse than I am. I just wanna prepare you for that."

Frankie felt a small upward tug of her lips. And then they tugged downwards. "Do you really think I can be a hunter?"

Dean looked down at Frankie. She had certainly come a long way since he met her at the diner. She wasn't just some innocent orphan from Alabama anymore. She was a hunter in training, being groomed for the apocalypse. Looking into her wide eyes, sparkling in the sunset from remaining tears, he couldn't help but feel guilty for all she had gone through and all she was going to go through. There was no stopping it now, and that was the worst part.

"I sure do, kiddo," he answered, his smile strained and false.

The grin on Frankie's face was genuine, though, and much too naïve for a hunter, but he kept that to himself. "Really?"

"Oh yeah. With some time and some _effort_ ," he enunciated, attempting to insinuate more hard work which she picked up on with a smirk, "I think you could be as good as me or Sam. Hell… I'm in the market for a new partner. Someday you might just fit the bill."

Frankie's smile grew even bigger, if at all possible. In a quick burst of joy, she buried her face in his side and wrapped both arms around his midsection, throwing him slightly off balance.

He gave a nervous laugh at the girl, conflicting feelings of guilt and amusement battling inside him. "Woah, hey! Cut it out before you rub all your estrogen off on me," he joked while pulling her off of him. The girl looked up to him with the most innocent looking eyes. He couldn't bear the guilt pooling in his heart, so he forced a returning smile on his face and stood up from the bench seat.

"C'mon. Let's go see what Bobby's got planned for dinner. I think my stomach's about to eat itself."

"Yeah! I'm starving," Frankie exclaimed while standing up and following after her brother. They only got a few steps towards the house when Dean looked down to Frankie with a quirked brow and a smirk.

"I think you ruined my boxers."

Frankie didn't stop giggling until they reached the house.


	18. Chapter 17 - Problem

Frankie tugged on her tank top and grouped her hair up into her usual small ponytail. It didn't take her long to get ready these days. Since beginning her training with Dean, she learned of efficiency and punctuality, two traits that she was more than inexperienced with, but getting better at the more she spent time with her brother.

She ran through her routine like every morning, only in this one she wore a smile. She didn't immediately know the reason behind her grinning. It was pre-sunrise, cold throughout the entire house, she had only gotten five hours of sleep due to her studying, and she of course had the regular nightmares to put her in a cranky mood, but the cranky mood never made an appearance. She smiled despite the soreness in her muscles and the weight pulling on her eyelids. She smiled because somewhere deep inside her she felt like that day was going to be a good one.

She skipped the bottom step and hopped onto the floor. She wasn't too worried about waking up Dean. He was usually up at that time anyway if it hadn't been a long day before. She spared a glance into the study to find him dead asleep, his brows furrowed just slightly from an intense slumber. She sent his sleeping form a small smile as she walked into the kitchen to fill her bag with water and cereal bars.

"Hey, kid," voiced the familiar drawl of Bobby. Frankie turned her head and looked over her shoulder as the man entered the kitchen behind her.

"Morning, Bobby. You're up early," the girl greeted, going back to packing her bag.

"Couldn't sleep. Thought I might as well get breakfast started up. You wanna stay fer a bite?"

"Nah. Gotta keep to the schedule. Can't afford to break it this far in."

The man shrugged as Frankie zipped her bag and pulled it onto her shoulders. "Oh, before you go," Bobby added, stopping her from heading out of the door. The girl watched as Bobby walked over to a hook on the wall and grabbed a plain necklace from it. "Got this out in one piece and cleaned it off. I dunno. Thought maybe you'd like it."

Frankie narrowed her brows as she reached out and took the necklace from his hand. She looked closely at it until she finally realized what it was. It was the chain object that was clogging up the engine of the car Bobby was working on.

She rolled the chain in her palm with her thumb, noticing how he had scrubbed and polished the dull, silver chain and fashioned a clasp on it. Frankie couldn't help but grin even more at the sentiment. He didn't have to give her the necklace. He could have just thrown it away and that would be the end of it, but he instead chose to make it presentable and give it to her. It was a simple gesture, but one that meant the world to Frankie. She didn't miss a beat when she unclasped the necklace and fastened it around her neck.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed quietly as she held the chain in her fingers.

"I know it's not fancy or anything. Hell, I yanked it out of a car, but-"

"Bobby," Frankie interrupted, stopping any discomfiture he may have felt about its origin. "I love it. Thank you. So much." Frankie went as far as leaning in and wrapping her arms in a small hug around the suddenly stiff man. She didn't linger on the hug long enough for him to relax, but when she pulled back from the hug, he was smiling, too. "It really is gunna be a good day," she beamed. She then glanced out the window and remembered that she needed to keep to a schedule. "Oh, I gotta go," she announced, turning around to head out of the house. "I'll see you at lunch!"

"I'll be here," Bobby called back just before the back door closed behind her.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon, lightening up the previously dark world. Frankie stood on the back porch and took in a deep breath. It was a nice day, she could feel it. With a light sigh, she stepped off of the porch and began her jog into the woods.

* * *

The workout was what it usually was: stretches, lifts, squats, meditation, machete practice, and more stretches. She found herself getting less and less winded by the time she finished her days work. That was progress, and Dean would be glad to know that she was making some.

With the sun high in the sky, Frankie downed her last water bottle and packed her backpack. As she readied to head back to the house, the wind blew so serenely through the trees that Frankie simply had to close her eyes to enjoy it. Those moments of serenity didn't frequent her days anymore, so she reveled in them as much as she could.

She opened her eyes as a flock of birds flew overhead. She absentmindedly watched them soar in the sky, their visage finally disappearing as they flew behind the awning of trees above her. It was then when her eyes once again landed on the tree branch.

 _That_ branch.

She hadn't attempted to do a pull up since the day Dean offered to be her teacher. She had avoided the certain failure, but now she wondered over the outcome. She had been working very hard lately. She even noticed the tiniest thickening of her arm muscles, although it may have just been her mind seeing what it wanted to see, but she liked to believe they really were more muscular. Maybe she actually could do a pull up.

While she should head back to the house for lunch, she decided that she wouldn't be satisfied until she tried once more to best that damn branch. Frankie set her backpack back onto her rock, lining up to take on the branch.

She did a few more stretches even though she was looser than she had been in a while. She rolled her neck as she eyed it like it had insulted her mother. It might as well have, the bastard. She cracked her knuckles as one last measure.

"Alright, branch," she grunted, "I'm gunna do pull ups on you. My arms are stronger, my fingers are calloused, and you haven't changed a bit, you lazy bitch. I'm gunna best you this time."

With a hefty grunt, Frankie leaped from her crouched position and clutched onto the lousy branch that taunted her so. She didn't waste a moment in flexing her arms and pulling her body up.

And she was doing it. She noticed with amazement as her arms were able to lift her body halfway up without a strain. Her eyes gaped, her mouth went slack. With a strong pull, Frankie's chin surpassed the branch, one pull up achieved.

"Ha! Ha, ha, ha! I did it!"

She brought her arms back down so she hung. A few more victorious laughs escaped her overjoyed body. She flexed her arms and pulled herself up again, then again, laughing all the way.

"I did it, ya fucking bastard! I did it!"

Frankie was only able to do six real pull ups, however, due to her arms already having a previous workout, but she didn't need a full set. She only needed that one, and she got it.

She let go of the branch and sent it a triumphant sneer as she gathered her bag and began her jog back to Bobby's house with an even bigger grin on her face. It really was a great day. She could only imagine what the day with Dean would be like.

She had to admit, things were getting better between them since the little "joke" he pulled on her the other day. That was a real dick move, but he at least got it out of his system and so did she. She hadn't pulled a move like the one with the underwear since then, even though she really, really wanted to at times. But things between them had gotten better. He was still a hard ass and he didn't let up on getting under her skin about the little details, but Frankie came to terms with the fact that he was picking on every little detail for a reason and she just needed to do better. After all, it may be the difference between life and death one day. To sum it up, they understood each other more and more each day and were better because of it.

Frankie was in awe at the progress the two had made in such a short time. It made her wonder how they would interact a year down the line. Of course… that depended on whether or not they made it to a year. The apocalypse seemed like it would start any day now, but she had tried to ignore it. But despite that, if they made it to a year, Frankie hoped that she and Dean would be as close as real siblings should be. She could only imagine, but it seemed like a reality she could reach if they lived that long.

She really hoped they lived that long.

She reached Bobby's house and forced the negative thoughts away. She didn't need them clouding up her great day. She narrowed in on the back door and opened it, walking into the kitchen and slinging her backpack beside the door like every day.

"I'm back!" she called out, expecting to be reprimanded for being so loud when they were in the room, but they were not in the room this time. Frankie looked at the empty chairs tucked into the barren table, no lunch prepared in sight. Frankie narrowed her brows. Usually lunch's ingredients would at least be laid out, but nothing was on the counter.

Frankie shrugged her shoulders as she headed deeper into the house. It wasn't uncommon for the men to be out and about instead of waiting on her. It just meant they were taking care of duties instead of lazily sitting around for her to return.

Frankie checked the study and upstairs. Dean wasn't inside, and he didn't leave a note for her. While she felt she had the responsibility of looking for her teacher, she saw it as a few more extra minutes of rest and leisure. She needed a break every now and then, so she would take this one.

Her idea of a break was preparing lunch. Nothing special, but filling enough for three people. She was starving by the time she finished, so she decided to just help herself while she waited on them for a change.

Frankie plopped down on the couch, minding to not sit on the pillow and blanket that Dean now slept on. Frankie felt a little bad at times that she got the room and he didn't, but he insisted that he had slept on worse, so that got her through a few nights.

Frankie set her plate of food on the TV tray in front of her and looked to the stack of books next to her. She leaned forward, holding her chin in her fingers as she scoured for a good read. The books near the couch were mostly ones she had already read, but a few were new to her.

As Frankie traced her eyes along the spines of each book, a specific Latin word stood out, her brain all but lighting up incandescent-like as she registered it. " _Angeli_ ," she whispered. "Angels."

She shouldn't want to, them being dicks and all, but Frankie really wanted to know more about these supposed angels. They were the one creature she got wrong in all her studies. Vampires? Blood thirsty monsters. Demons? Angry bastards from Hell. Angels? Not nice and good at all, and are instead bastards as well? That didn't add up, so she wanted to get her facts right, or at least find a reliable source to her brother's claims.

She plucked the large book from the pile and dropped it in her lap. She scooped up a bite of her food before opening the book and charging forward, hoping to learn anything about what angels really are.

She saw the regular things: the archangels, Gabriel delivering the good news to the Virgin Mary, Lucifer's fall, but they weren't anything her elderly neighbors in Bama didn't preach about at every fall festival. She wanted the juicy stuff, the soldiers of Heaven stuff.

Then a new term popped up. She had seen it maybe once in her life, never knowing it tied to angels, but Enochian peppered the pages before her. It was apparently the language of the angels. Frankie wondered if she could maybe learn that language, but already seeing how her exorcism practice was going, she thought that maybe wasn't such a good idea.

She turned another page. A large picture of a painting depicting the archangel Michael was before her eyes. He looked kind of like Traci Lind if she was being honest, but she guessed that was just the style back then. Aside from his gloriously dated hair, Michael possessed some interesting war armor. Finally, the soldier stuff! The whole look was completed with a sword that he held above his head, ready to strike.

Frankie flicked her eyes to the other page. It told a tale of something that seemed much too close to home. It was about the apocalypse. "Shit," she whispered, as she closed her eyes. She knew this would really dampen her good day. Nonetheless, she opened her eyes and read on.

It said that once the apocalypse began, Michael will descend onto earth to battle his fallen brother, Lucifer, and fight for the planet and for peace, each side's version of peace varying greatly.

Frankie didn't like the sound of that. Michael seemed like a hard ass warrior, and Lucifer was… well, _Lucifer_. The two of them fighting would only lead to devastation for sure. And to think, if Sam and Dean failed at their mission, this would be the near future. Death, fire, a beautiful home to billions up in smoke.

She slammed the book closed, placing it to the side. She didn't need to think about the destruction of the world now. Not when it was so close.

Frankie finished her food and tried to block out everything that she just read. Once done, she put the plate into the sink and looked at the still remaining lunch for Dean and Bobby. It had been a good while since she came back from her workout, and she was beginning to get suspicious. She really shouldn't. Dean was probably out getting supplies and Bobby was most likely in the garage. Bored and slightly worried, Frankie went outside to check for the men there.

And then she noticed something perplexing. The Impala was still there. Dean wasn't gone to the store, which meant he would still be there. Bobby's truck was still out front, so he wasn't gone either. She twiddled the chain around her neck with unease.

The light clinking of metal against metal from the garage put her edgy mind at ease. They were probably working together on a project. Dean knew a thing or two about cars, so it was only logical that he and Bobby could bond over that.

But her heart sank at the presence of only one man. "Bobby," she said aloud. The man ducked out from under the hood of his current project – the different one than where her necklace came from – and greeted with a nod.

"Hey kid."

"Hey," she automatically greeted back. "Where's Dean?"

The man took a moment to respond as he tightened something inside the engine. "Thought he was inside."

"He's not."

Bobby hummed as he grabbed a rag from the side table. "Probably out and about then."

"His car's right over there."

Now catching onto her suspicion, Bobby turned around to face Frankie, wiping his oily hands on the worn cloth. "Might be takin' a walk. Or somethin' else. He's not really known for stayin' in one place fer long." The girl frowned at the ground in response. Sensing her worry, Bobby stepped forward with a sigh. "He's probably just takin' a break somewhere. Wouldn't you?"

Frankie didn't admit that she just got done with her own break in lieu of proving her worry to be more than just paranoia. "And he wouldn't leave some sort of note or anything? He leaves me notes when he goes out somewhere!"

"Kid!" Bobby hushed, putting his hands on her shoulders to try and contain the frazzled girl. "He's fine. I just saw him an hour ago. He didn't just up and vanish."

Frankie pouted. "But… what if he could be in trouble? Like Sam."

Bobby stiffened at the mention of her other brother and retracted his hands. Frankie could see that he was still shaken up by her missing brother. Frankie tried to ignore it, but whenever Sam was brought up, Bobby reacted in a way that told her something went down between them before he disappeared. She knew it was probably nothing, but anything could be something.

Finally, the man sighed and leaned against his work in progress. "If it'll ease yer bellyachin', I'll give him a call to get an ETA. That sound good?"

Frankie nodded vigorously which got a snort out of him before he reached over to his side table and flipped open his phone. He scrolled down his contacts before finding Dean and dialing him. Watching him make the call reminded Frankie that she should try for Adam again later. She was starting to get worried about him.

Frankie watched Bobby's face as the phone dialed and dialed again. It hardened when the voicemail finally spoke into the phone. With a small grunt, Bobby dialed up another contact, probably another phone of Dean's. This time, Bobby's eyes grew very stoic when the voicemail chimed. He tried one more contact, waiting for it to ring, and setting his jaw when yet another voicemail filtered through.

He took the phone away from his ear and sighed as he closed it. He stared at it before shoving it into his pocket and crossing his arms over his chest. "He might be missing."

"Might?!" Frankie cried out.

Bobby shook his head. "He don't answer my calls, he's in trouble. Or at least gunna be."

"Shit." Frankie brought a hand up to bite her nails as she shuffled her feet nervously. "What do we do?"

Bobby was already heading into the house, the girl following closely behind him. "Track his phone. Find where it ended up. Good chance is he'll be there, too." Frankie nodded her head, only understanding a few key words in her frantic state.

Once inside, Bobby immediately headed into the study and fished out a laptop, setting it down on the desktop over the latest of his research. "I'm no expert on these ' _modern_ ' techniques, but th' boys taught me a thing or two in case they got into a rut like this." Frankie watched over his shoulder as he worked the tracking, completely lost at everything he was doing. She felt like this was something she had to learn as a hunter, but another time, after Dean was confirmed safe and sound.

A troubling sound came from Bobby, which pulled her attention to him. "What?" she spurted, flicking her eyes between him and the screen. "What's wrong?"

"Well," Bobby grunted, "I'm supposed to be lookin' at his coordinates right now. Thing's not pickin' it up."

"What does that mean?" Frankie asked, feeling her stomach get heavier and heavier with each moment of uncertainty.

"Means he's either gone on purpose and don't wanna be found, which is th' good scenario…"

"What's the bad scenario then?"

Bobby set his jaw before turning around in his chair to look the girl in her eyes. His own held a knowing and solemn gaze. "He's been taken somewhere we can't track. That's the bad scenario."

Frankie involuntarily heaved a despairing sigh. "Well, that's awesome." She began pacing the floor of the study, all the while her teeth filing down her nails to the nub. "If he's in the bad scenario… what do we do? Like… where do we even start looking?"

"Kid, if I knew, I would already be ten feet out th' door, but I don't. 'Sides, we don't know he's somewhere out of reach." The man closed the laptop and pushed himself out of his chair. Frankie stopped pacing and watched as he started heading towards the front door. "I'll go outside town and look for him there. There's been some demon trouble there he might've gotten into."

"I'll go with you," Frankie said, reaching for her denim jacket on the wall.

"No. You stay here. He may come back. It'll save us a helluva lotta time if he does and someone's here to report it."

Frankie looked up at the man incredulously. "I'm not just gunna stay here while he's probably in trouble, Bobby. What kind of sister would I be if I stood by while he's probably being tortured? I _can't_ stay here."

"Well, yer gunna. If he comes back and no one's here, he'll go out and try to find us, and that's a dilemma we need to avoid."

"If he comes back he can just call us. We'll have our phones on us."

"This ain't a democracy, kid. I'm goin' out and yer stayin' here." The man shoved on his own jacket and headed out of the door. "I'll be back around sundown. If I'm not… well… assume th' worst."

Frankie bit her lip as she watched the man walk out the door. She desperately wanted to argue. Her conscience urged her to hold her ground and demand she go with him to search for her missing brother, but she was on Dean time. Rule number one rang in her head like an activated smoke detector. Even though it wasn't Bobby she was supposed to listen to blindly, he was still far more qualified for that situation than she was. Knowing Dean, he must go missing often. Therefore, Bobby would know more about it than her.

Before she could change her mind, Bobby revved up his truck and sped off to look for Dean. Frankie was left alone. _Completely_ alone. No Sam, no Dean, not even Bobby to tell her what to do.

She puffed out a breath of air as she gradually lowered herself back onto the couch. So, she was just supposed to sit there while Dean was gone? Everything about that felt so wrong. In her eyes, she should be in that truck with Bobby, forming a plan with him and narrowing down locations to where he might be. And yet she was there on the couch, chewing on her nails and staring ahead at nothing. She was doing jack to help her brother, and it felt so dirty.

Frankie shot up from the couch and began pacing the floor. She had to keep her mind busy and away from troubling thoughts like that. She had a purpose and that was to be there if Dean came back. It was an important role and someone had to do it. So in order to focus on her current duty, Frankie filled her time with active tasks.

She did the dishes, righted the papers, vacuumed the floor, but the worry kept creeping back in. Huffing through her troubles, she straightened stacks of books that were already straight just to keep her mind steady, but it simply ended in an idea that would press firmly on the back of her neck.

Her eyes landed on the book on angels. In an instant, the idea to call upon angels to help them forced itself into her brain without any consent. Suddenly, she was overcome with the thought to pray to Heaven for help.

"Oh no. No, no, no. Oh no you don't."

Frankie sharply turned away from the book and walked out of the study entirely to avoid the temptation of the idea. She was desperate to help, but not _that_ desperate. There was no way she was going to bring them into the problem at hand after all Dean said about them. And even if they did help out, even going as far as delivering Dean on the doorstep, her brother would be pissed at her for seeking their help.

She tried to focus on anything and everything else to avoid even thinking about praying. She began stress eating, chowing down Dean's plate and half of Bobby's. She put whatever was left into the fridge, but there wasn't much. She then took a hot shower in an attempt to relax and clear her mind. It only allowed the idea to grow stronger.

"No. Don't think about it. Just wait for him."

It wasn't like they would want to help, despite them being freaking _angels_ and all. They were humans and Dean said they didn't like humans. Why would those winged jerks want to help her out?

' _Castiel could help.'_

Frankie snapped her eyes open, accidentally letting soap seep into them. The thought was quick and quiet, but it had made its presence known alright.

The thought had crossed her mind once or twice. If Dean and Castiel were friends once, it could probably happen again, right? And if not, perhaps there were still feelings hidden inside the angel, but he just chose not to show it.

But who was she kidding. Who was she to possibly know what angels thought about? Castiel said it himself. He served Heaven and not man, and certainly not Dean. He wouldn't help. Not now. But she wondered…

"No!" she exclaimed aloud, her voice echoing in the shower. In a way, it was almost like another person telling her not to do it. "I will not pray to Heaven!" she shouted in hopes that she could at least listen to her own echo.

After the shower didn't help, Frankie was left with little more to do to keep herself from thinking about it. She was restless. In desperation to fill the time, Frankie took out her revolver and some bullets and went outside.

She practiced her shooting, both getting some training done and distracting her brain from angels. The firing of the gun was loud and filled her ears with a constant ringing. She welcomed it with a strained smile. The ringing was very distracting. Just what she wanted.

But sadly not even her loss of hearing could silence the idea that punctured her thoughts. It kept coming back like a boomerang. "Please," she whispered desperately between shots. "Please don't do it."

Shooting practice wasn't working. She didn't know what else to do. She was alone, scared, and had an itch to find Dean that she couldn't shake. She needed help. She needed to talk to someone to get the thought out of her head, but there was no one there.

In a final push to fill her time, she took out her phone and scrolled through what little contacts she had. Just for the hell of it, she dialed Dean's number only for it to unsurprisingly ring until his voicemail chimed in her ear.

"This is Dean's other, _other_ cell so… you must know what to do."

"Dammit, Dean," she muttered. "Where the hell are you, man?" Frankie pressed her lips together as she frantically looked through her phone for another soul to try for. Sam's name appeared. Frankie stifled a heavy sigh. "Where the hell are _you_?"

She scrolled back up as her eyes landed on Adam's name. Frankie bit her lip. With baited breath, she dialed his number and waited. "Hey, this is Adam. Leave a message." She clenched her jaw and dialed again. "Hey, this is Adam. Leave a message." She nearly dropped her phone from how fast she dialed again. "Hey, this is Adam. Leave-"

Frankie snapped the phone closed with a resounding snap. In a fit of tired dismay at everything falling apart around her, she dropped to the ground. She sat on top of gravel, ignoring the sharp pain to wrap her arms around her knees. She tucked her head into her crossed arms and only breathed in long sighs. What was going on with… just… everything? She needed answers _fast_.

With one last lingering hope, Frankie raised her head and allowed a passing thought to make itself known. She lifted herself off of the ground and hurried inside. Using Bobby's laptop, Frankie looked up the hospital that Adam's mom worked at. She dialed their number and waited, her weak conscience pleading for an answer.

"Windom General Hospital. How can I help you?"

Frankie sighed gratefully through her nose at an actual answer. She took a moment to calm her frazzled voice before speaking. "Uh, yes. Um… is Kate Milligan working there today? I need to speak with her, please."

Frankie's eyes furrowed at the quiet pause that resonated from the other line. She nearly repeated herself before the voice came back, this time not nearly as cheery. "I'm sorry. Kate Milligan no longer works here."

Frankie's heartbeat seemed nonexistent. "I-I'm sorry? No longer?"

"She was discharged just last week."

Frankie's mouth moved with no guidance from her raving brain. "W-Why? Why was she discharged?"

"I'm sorry, I can't give out personal information of a former employee."

"I'm family," Frankie snapped. It wasn't… _entirely_ a lie. "I'm her son's half-sister."

This pause was shorter, but no less concerning. "Kate Milligan was institutionalized into Saint Lazarus Mental Hospital last Wednesday."

The sound of the phone hitting the desktop was no doubt heard on the other line, causing concern to the desk clerk. The phone stood no chance in staying in Frankie's hands. Her fingers began an involuntary tremble that only got stronger the more that one word repeated in her skull.

"In-… inst-…"

"Ma'am? Are you still there?"

Frankie was in a trance, and she had to break it. Clamping her eyes shut, she fumbled around for her phone and picked it back up to press it too hard against her ear.

"Why?"

"Why… what? Can you be more specific, ma'am?"

"Why was she institutionalized?!" Frankie borderline screamed. It wasn't fair to the clerk, she knew that, but she couldn't help how her emotions reacted to such news.

"Well, I can't say with absolute clarity, but she stopped coming into work and when she was questioned about it… well… she said some very concerning things."

' _Oh… dear… fuck.'_

"They thought it best that she stay in a comforting environment where she can be examined safely."

Frankie ran her fingers through her hair, clutching the strands between her knuckles. "And her son? What about Adam?" God, if he was in there too… she didn't know if she could take it.

"As far as I know, ma'am, he's continuing his studies, but I don't know for certain. If I were in his shoes, though, I would visit her in the hospital. Perhaps he's there with her."

"But he's not… h-he's not… _there_ right? He's not… insti-… institutionalized, too, is he?"

"Oh no. He seemed perfectly stable from what I heard."

Frankie nodded to no one. He wasn't in there, but Kate was. That was why he wasn't answering her calls. That was why he had vanished just like her other brothers. She felt for him. She wanted to reach out to him. She wanted to comfort him. But she couldn't. It was like he didn't exist in her world anymore. She couldn't get to him. Just like Sam and Dean, she couldn't reach him.

In such a short time, she had gained three brothers and lost them one by one.

"Thank you," she spoke into the phone, though it was more of a whisper than anything. She didn't even wait for a response from the woman on the other line before shutting the phone and dropping it onto the floor.

She leaned all the way back in the desk chair, her head going slack and hanging off of the back. Her eyes were pointed up to the ceiling, but she wasn't looking at anything.

The apocalypse: near. Sam: left. Dean: missing. Bobby: gone. Adam: Silent. Kate: Institutionalized. Frankie: terrified.

She was alone, sitting back in Bobby's chair, with all hope draining from her soul. Everything that she thought she had gained anew – a family, friends, a new life, a new purpose – in such a short time was fluttering away in a puff of air. She couldn't grab it. She couldn't even bring herself to tell it to stop. It was like she was powerless, powerless to stop the life she wanted from fleeing yet again. She was just a human, a lousy one at that, that couldn't do a damn thing to help.

But she knew of someone who could.

There was no use denying it anymore. Everything was going straight down to Hell, and she'd be damned if she didn't save just one fleeing thing in her life.

She found her strength and got out of Bobby's chair. Stoically, she walked right out of the house and into Bobby's backyard. She walked a good ways from the house and stood on top of patched grass just outside of the forest. It was more than secluded enough, not that an empty property wasn't already secluded.

"Castiel!" she yelled. "I've been telling myself not to call you out all day. But… it seems I don't have much of a choice anymore. I'm screwed, and you have powers I can't even begin to imagine. At least, I think you do. Apparently I don't know shit about angels. But I do know this. You can hear me right now. Yup. I know this. So you do me a _big_ favor and fly on down here. 'Cause I sure as hell need some help, and you helped out Dean once. So… I'd imagine helping me out wouldn't be too far of a stretch."

She looked up to the sky. Just clouds flew by. Not even a single bird made an appearance. She looked around, hoping to suddenly see a random angel pop up. Nothing. She tried again.

"Castiel!" she sang in a mockingly cheery manner. "I need you. I know you follow by Heaven's laws and crap, but… I'm begging you. I need help." Frankie's voice lowered. "Boy, do I need help." Not an answer in sight. What else was new? "Look… I get it. You help out just one measly human and then get your ass whooped and then you find yourself back to square one. I'm not gunna say I can relate, but I get it. But I know this. You found something in Dean you liked. That means at some point you were like, 'Hey. Maybe humans are worth it after all.' Anything other than that is just extreme angel propaganda and you know it.

"Look at me. Talking _down_ to an angel in _Heaven_. That's gotta be a joke of some sort. Anyway, you'd be doing me a huge solid. I could offer you a favor in return! Don't know what the hell I could offer, but… you got that option!"

Frankie sighed up to the empty sky. She was going about this all wrong. She knew that all too well. But it wasn't like she had a step-by-step guide on how to talk to celestial beings older than the ground she was standing on.

"Castiel…," she spoke, much softer, all fire having left her soul. "I have nothing you want. I have no way of returning a favor to you or paying you back… all I have is a request. And, here, I'm getting on my knees right now." She did as she announced. For added measure, she craned her neck up to the sky and opened her arms out wide. "I have a problem that needs fixing. I don't know where Dean is. And… I need a lot of help. And you have to be the one for the job.

"I'm not gunna pretend like that look at the warehouse was nothing, Castiel. You saw something in me and I wanna know what that was. You can't just leave a girl wondering like that, man. And I want an answer to why you stuffed me in a car that night, you bastard!… Sorry… sorry. I just… I'm kinda in a shit storm right now and… if you could really help me out that would be great."

Silence. Not even the wind responded to her. The lack of answer she had that day refilled her form with indignant rage.

"What, I'm just not good enough to grace your presence? Hm? You give Dean, like, what? _Months_ of assistance and me nothing? I mean, yeah, we've never _officially_ met, but you gave me that look. I at least deserve an answer to that _and_ the car shit! Castiel! I'm done waiting! Castiel, you sonnuva bitch! You get down here and help me or I swear I'll sprout wings myself and come up there and shove my size nine and a half sneaker up your tight, angelic-!"

"What do you want?"

Frankie snapped her head forward, doe-eyed and mouth agape as she took in the sight before her.

There he stood. Castiel appeared before her with his familiar tan trench coat and impatient glare. The only thing the look was missing was his hands resting on his hips.

"Huh," Frankie muttered under her breath as she picked herself off of the ground. "It actually worked."

"I'm not supposed to be here. Be quick." Frankie still wasn't used to Jimmy's voice used so gravelly, but she bit back the discomfort and cleared her throat.

"First things first. Dean's missing." No change in his expression. He really didn't care about Dean anymore, did he? "Bobby can't track his phone and he wouldn't just up and go without telling us. Not this time, at least."

"What do you want? I won't ask again."

Frankie's face grew a nice glower pointed right at the angel across from her. "If you used your brain it wouldn't be so much of a question." She internally pinched herself, knowing that she shouldn't be picking a fight with the one she needed help from. "Can you track Dean or not?"

Castiel looked down. Frankie was caught off guard by that. Did he just… _avert_ his eyes? No, that couldn't be it. He was a supposed to be intimidating, right? Here she was thinking he was some big bad angel who cared not for any human and now he was avoiding a subject by removing the one menacing aspect about him. Rookie mistake.

With a hidden smirk, Frankie tried for something to test where the angel's head was. "Clock's a'tickin', man. I need an answer," she urged with confidence. She crossed her arms for added measure.

He snapped his bright blue eyes back up to her and forced intensity back into them. Frankie now knew the intensity was fake, a pawn conditioned by authoritarian asshole angels. "I can't," he finally answered.

Frankie's brows shot up. Her heart didn't sink like she thought it would. That was due to her having a hunch that he was lying. "You… _can't_ track him?"

He averted his eyes again, this time trying to play it off as condescendingly looking off to the side. "No."

"Why?" He snapped his eyes back to her. He didn't say anything, but his narrowed brows said enough. Frankie shrugged. "Why can't you track him? I mean, you're an angel, right? You can do amazing, remarkable things. I would think tracking insignificant human beings wouldn't be too hard for you." Despite having absolutely no proof of him lying and her also being in the presence of a goddamn _angel_ , Frankie wore the skin of arrogance she found in her brother. "Hell, you knew just where to find me out in that junkyard."

She held his gaze in her own. Her eyes dared him to deny what she was saying. She could tell that he was used to arrogance from Dean, and she was using it against him. It looked like it might have been working.

"Where's Dean, Castiel?" she coolly asked.

"What makes you think I know?"

Frankie quirked a brow at him, adjusting her crossed arms. " _Do_ you know?"

He was silent. Frankie saw the discomfort behind his stony, solid, mechanical glare. It didn't make her happy. Her glare evened out, her arrogance fading.

"Do you know where Dean is?" she asked, her voice lower as the realization came forth.

He averted his eyes. Frankie widened her own.

"Castiel, you need to tell me where he is right now," she hurriedly said as she stepped closer to the angel. He flicked his crystal blue eyes back to her.

"I can't," he grunted, borderline growling.

"This isn't a game, Castiel!" Frankie snarled, shoving one of his shoulders. "He could be in danger! Tell me where my brother is _now_!"

The angel's eyes changed from pestered to curious. "Brother?" Frankie's own anger was put on hold as she noticed his curiosity. He parted his lips as his eyes narrowed deeply into her own. "I was not aware the Winchesters had a sister."

"I mean… I'm trying to have an argument here. Not the best time to ask about familial clarity."

Frankie meant to say much more, but she was stopped by a familiar feeling. She faintly gasped when she felt that connection again. The feeling of phantom fingers raking through her brain as she stared into the blue eyes above her was not welcomed.

"What…," she muttered, trying to form a sentence passed the overwhelming feeling. She tried squeezing her eyes shut instead.

"Francine Pearce. You are John's daughter… but not Mary's."

"Mary?" Frankie whispered under her breath as the feeling faded. She opened her eyes to find his face even more confused than earlier. And then she realized what had just happened. "Wait. You just read my mind." Her furrowed brows matched his own. "Back at the warehouse, that's what you were doing? You were reading my mind? That's what the look was about?" Castiel kept his mouth shut, but he didn't avert his eyes. "What then? What were you looking for?" He still didn't answer. Frankie was getting antsy and readied for a sassy remark, but a faint look in his eye stopped that from happening. Instead, it made her head cock to the side to the side in thought. "Is there something wrong with me?" Castiel's expression changed from resigned to confused. "That's it, isn't it? I'm sick. It's a tumor. No, it's my kidney, isn't it? Shit, not now!"

"I don't understand."

"My kidneys! Is that what you were looking at? Back in the warehouse when you looked at me. You turned around 'cause you saw something in me that wasn't right and I have this family problem with kidneys and that's probably it! Oh, damn! I'm dying, aren't I?!"

"No, you are not dying," he rumbled with a shake of his head. Pausing her panicking, Frankie flicked her eyes back to the angel's puzzled face.

"Why were you reading my mind then?" Castiel's parted mouth found itself closing and remaining shut. His eyes averted this time. " _Why_?"

"It is not my place to say."

"Your place? Oh c'mon! Give me some sort of answer! You own me that much! After all, I never spoke of you coming here the night Sam-…"

Frankie seemingly got lost halfway through her argument. She had a flash realization that she couldn't shake, especially since she was looking up at the cause for such alarm.

"Castiel…," she muttered, her voice even as she looked into the perplexed eyes above her. "Why did you come to Bobby's house that night?" Frankie noticed something she wished she hadn't. He set his jaw, a sign that she hit something important. "Castiel…," she repeated, this time her voice growing firmer. "Why didn't you stop Sam from escaping?" He remained unmoved, a quality Frankie was quickly finding annoying. "Castiel! Answer me!"

All of a sudden, the angel seemed to have found his fire, remembering the ass beating that he received from his angel pals. "Need I remind you that you are ordering demands to a celestial soldier of Heaven? I don't think I need to specify that I outrank you."

"And I don't think I need to specify that all of my brothers are gone and I am on my very last nerve. I am scared, worried to _death_ over men I have only just met and I will _not_ be withheld information to one of my brothers' whereabouts all because an angel is getting testy."

Frankie and Castiel were at a stalemate. The angel stood at his full height, glaring down that the human who had the audacity to talk down to him as Frankie practically stood on her tiptoes just to be up in his face, feeling that her scowl wasn't even enough to prove how pissed she was.

"I have asked you three questions. Where's Dean? Why did you read my mind? What happened the night Sam escaped? If you must answer one, do it now before I smack you."

Castiel's face represented an angel that was about to zap a bitch out of existence, but he refrained from doing so. Instead, he leaned away from their stalemate and pulled back from his glower, though a glare still remained.

"I placed you in the damaged vehicle to distract Dean and his friend. As they rested from their unsuccessful search, I freed Sam and left."

His eyes were cold and even. They were not averted and stared deeply into her own eyes. As far as she could tell, he was telling the truth, and yet she couldn't believe a single word.

"You sonnuva bitch," she mumbled, staring incredulously up at the angel. That bastard. That absolute bastard. He let Sam escape, and he used her as a distraction. " _You sonnuva bitch_!"

Frankie reared back her fist, fueled it with the rage she felt boiling in her chest, and flung it right in the assholes chin. However, she was not expecting said chin to feel like a marble bust. His head jerked to the side, but only moved an inch. Frankie instantly pulled her hand to the safety of her chest and bit down the need to squeal like a branded hog.

"You have your brother's temper," Castiel noted as he righted his head.

"You're goddamn right I do! You let Sam escape! You're a fucking douchebag!"

"It was my order. I had to see it done."

"Yeah, I bet you did. Anything to please those cocksucker angels, huh?" The girl shook her hand and scowl up at the angel. "I'm running out of time. I'll find a way to kick your ass later. I need to know where Dean is. Tell me."

"The deal was that I answer only one of your questions."

Frankie scoffed. "Deals are for demons and Howie Mandel. Fact of the matter is that Dean went missing today and you seem to know where he is. If you cared even for a second about Dean before, you will tell me where I can find him."

For a moment, Frankie thought she had him, but he shook off the effect and reverted back to a hard ass. "I have my orders and will keep my silence."

"Oh, fuck your orders!" Castiel was almost taken aback. Frankie stepped closer to him, hoping to get something through to him. "Dean was your friend. You know that. He scratched your back, you scratched his. Are you really gunna see him suffer?"

"He is not suffering."

"How do you know that?"

"I am also supposed to be guarding him. That is why I must get back."

"If you leave without telling me where I can find him, I will annoy that snot out of you with my praying."

The angel squinted his eyes and cocked his head to the side. "I do not secrete mucus."

"What?" Frankie breathed out, confused over the strangeness of the angel. "Look, Castiel… we're getting off on a really bad foot here, but we can get on a good one. You just have to help me out here. If Dean was ever your friend, you'll do this for him. Don't do it for me. Do it for Dean. Look, I don't know what the two of you went through together, but the way Dean talked about you… I don't think Dean makes friends often. He found something in you that he liked. That's a helluva lot more important than whatever those angels are drilling to you." Frankie stared deeply into his eyes. She held the gaze as if it were her lifeline until the magical moment came. He averted his eyes. She got him. She moved her head down so that she could catch his gaze and pulled him back to her. "You know it, too, don't you?"

They were at another stalemate. This one was much less intense. In this one, Frankie urged him to make the right decision and he struggled with his allegiance. She could see it. The angels never really broke him. They only scrubbed away the surface stains, but they could never remove the friendship he formed with her brother.

Castiel finally broke the stalemate by closing his eyes and stepping passed Frankie. "Castiel, don't let those angels fool you. You know what's right." The girl turned around to face him, but he kept his back to her. She set her jaw and stepped over to him. She brought her hand up to clutch his shoulder. It felt odd to touch him, but she didn't retreat. "You don't have to be the enemy here."

Castiel turned his head, just barely looking at her over his shoulder. She let out a long breath before turning her lips up into a hopeful smile. He stared back with an unwavering look in his crystalline eyes, though she wasn't entirely sure which emotion he was unwavering from.

In a startling instant, he was gone, the only evidence of him having been there being the fading fluttering of wings and her hand still elevated in midair where a shoulder once was.

Frankie looked up to the purpling sky. She huffed out a defeated sigh. "Coward," she spat. Shaking her head, she headed back for Bobby's house to stir in the information she had just received.

What was she going to do now? Castiel was her last hope and he up and vanished before telling her anything.

Well… he didn't tell her nothing. He told her that he was the one who let Sam loose. And he told her that she was a pawn in his plan to set him free and all because he had his orders from Heaven to do so. Frankie wished that she had kicked his fucking ass into the ground, but if his body was as hard as his face, she would only be injuring herself.

Frankie stood in the middle of the study. Bobby was supposed to be back soon. It was sundown. And what exactly was she going to tell him? That angels are holding Dean hostage and Castiel is guarding him? Not only would that be hard to believe, but it also meant that there was virtually nothing they could do to save him.

Tears began streaking down her face. She clutched her arms as she lowered herself onto the floor. She rested her chin on top of her knees. The world was falling apart around her. She had no idea what was going on or how she could help. Dean was taken by _angels_. And she was just some random human. He was gone. There was no getting him back. Not without Castiel's help. Her only lingering hope was that the he would make the right choice, but that seemed very unlikely.

She buried her head in her arms, her shoulders quaking as a heavy sob took over. She was powerless. Absolutely powerless. And no amount of training would ever fix that.

The uneasy weight in the pit of her stomach was overwhelming. This was all too much. Sam, Dean, Adam and Kate… she couldn't handle it.

But there was another feeling. Her head rose from her damp arms. Aside from the obvious problems tingling in her stomach, there was another one making itself known. She couldn't explain it. Something just didn't feel right.

No, it was more like something was very wrong.

And then she could have sworn she felt a trembling. She thought it was just her own shaking she was feeling, but the light clinking of objects on the shelves above her told her different.

Frankie whipped her head around the room. She was definitely feeling that. The room was shaking. It was even more apparent when one of the stacks of books shook so much that it toppled over. The girl shot to her feet as she realized what was happening. "Earthquake…," she whispered. "Shit!"

Thinking fast, Frankie launched out of the study and headed straight for the one place she knew she would be protected. Halfway down the stairs, the house began severely shaking, causing her to hit the wall and fall down the rest of the stairs. She hissed passed the pain as she narrowed her eyes on her destination.

The panic room was just out of reach. Pushing herself up, she stumbled over to the iron chamber and flung open the door. Before closing the door, she gave a last look around the basement. Everything that was upright or hung on the wall was littered across the floor or broken. This was more violent than any earthquake she had been in before. She just hoped Bobby was somewhere safe.

With that final worry clouding her mind, she slammed the door shut and retreated into the uncertain safety of the panic room, feeling the earthquake to be the cherry on top of her breaking world.

So much for a great day.


	19. Chapter 18 - Downhill

**A/N: Once again, thanks so very much to everyone who supports this story by favoriting, following, reviewing, and especially reading! And I hate/love to say that I'm repaying you guys by getting into the realest of shits now. BUT I hope you all enjoy!**

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Reality was warped in the panic room. There were no clocks, no windows, no way to track how much time had passed since the very ground beneath her trembled like a nervous Chihuahua. After what was only maybe an hour – maybe a lot more – within the ironclad walls, Frankie began feeling lightheaded. The chamber had a draining air to it. She felt so secluded, so alone. Of course she was the only person on the entire property, so that might have had something to do with it.

Frankie spent a long while inside the panic room. Only a little while after she first entered it, she was sure that the quake had passed and it was safe to go out, but she wasn't taking any chances. However, there was only so much one could do inside the chamber to keep themselves busy.

Frankie filled her time eating a can of beans on the cot that was in the center of the room. She at first didn't stand anywhere near the thing – having remembered the last time she saw someone lay on top of it – but eventually got tired of the numbness of her butt on the cold flooring. Absentmindedly, she had glanced around the room a bit before staring up at the leisurely rotating fans in the ceiling. As she sat on the cot, staring up at the hypnotizing blades, Frankie wondered how Sam must have felt being in the same situation. The thought nauseated her, ending her idle glancing and bean eating.

With time to herself, she began thinking of her… friends? Could she call them friends at this point? She thought about Sam and Dean. Missing and unreachable. Dean was guarded by an angel and Sam was guarded by a demon. There was no way to possibly find them, and there was no way to help them. That alone made her uselessness increase tenfold.

Then she thought about Kate and Adam. The first people she considered family since her mother passed. She was so out of reach with them. She let them slip away while she trained to be a hunter. And what happen while she turned a blind eye? Kate was placed in a mental institution. And if she put a thought to it, she was placed there because of the ghoul attack. An attack she could have prevented had she agreed to stay the night with them, but no. She just _had_ to be too afraid to impose on the hospitality of others.

She was then left with Bobby. She worried about him a lot. He said he would be back around sundown, but that's when the quake happened. He would have been on the road when it happened. That is if the demons didn't catch him outside of town first.

Frankie clutched the chain around her neck. What would she do if Bobby went missing, too? What would happen to her without him? Bobby had become something to her that she hadn't ever had before. He was someone she could cook with, joke with, talk with, and yet still respect and learn from. Others would call him a sort of father figure. She would, too, but she didn't know how to tell a kind man from a paternal stand-in. Point was, she couldn't lose him. Not now. Not when everything was going to shit.

Images flashed before her eyes. Visions of his body all bruised and beaten in a crushed truck in a ditch buzzed about behind her eyes. Pictures of his guts painting the ground in erratic crimson splats, a demon grinning above him, intruded her mind. He could be dead and she wouldn't know it. She wouldn't be anywhere near him to help him, to save his life. What was all that training good for if she couldn't protect the ones she held close?

"Kid!"

Frankie blinked. She could have sworn she had just heard his voice.

" _Frankie_!"

She gasped, bringing herself to her feet the instant she heard a voice and not a thought. She whipped her head around to the door before rushing out of the panic room in a hurry to see the man she thought dead or injured. The first thing she was met with was the trashed basement. There wasn't a single spot on the ground were there wasn't broken glass or stray bullets.

She hopped onto clear enough spots before reaching the stairs and flying up them two at a time. "Bobby!" she cried out. It was unbeknownst to her up until that point that she had tears pooling in her eyes. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she was full on sobbing.

"Kid," the man sighed in relief, relaxing at the sight of the girl alive. He barely kept his footing, however, when she flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hold.

He held his hands above her body in surprise before he registered her heaving sobs. Her presence and reaction was so sudden that he was completely caught off guard, but his comforting instincts kicked in as soon as the shock had passed. He closed his arms around her, rubbing a hand over her back to sooth her shivering body. "It's okay. Yer okay," he whispered into her ear.

From his perspective, she was terrified having gone through the quaking all by herself. He saw her crying as a relieved reaction to have survived and be greeted by a familiar face. The harsh reality was that she was all too happy to not have yet another friend vanish from her life without a way to bring them back.

Frankie pulled away from the hold to look into his eyes, her voice shaky and concerned. "A-Are you okay? Were you hit by the-the thing? The earthquake? You aren't hurt are you?"

Bobby clenched his jaw as he sighed through his nose. "No. But I was hit alright. And that weren't no earthquake."

The man sauntered into the study, the girl following more than closely behind. "Wasn't a… then what was it?" she asked. As she entered the study after him, she saw that the room was in worse shape than the basement. Books upon books were scattered around the floor. Pages were strewn in erratic positions. All of her hard work was tarnished in one night.

"Can't say. But it fer sure wasn't Mother Nature doin' her tap routine."

"Sure felt like one to me," Frankie mumbled, wiping her eyes dry. "How do you know for certain?"

"Well," Bobby said, looking up from his desk with a knowing look, "pretty sure th' winds don't change and clouds don't blow clear from th' sky in shockwaves durin' any ol' earthquake."

Frankie was well aware of her jaw going slack at the mention of the strange occurrences. He was right. It wasn't just any earthquake that sent her flying down those stairs. "Then… what could it possibly have been?"

"I got a few theories, but nothin' concrete. Good and bad scenario as usual." Frankie clenched her jaw. She hated good and bad scenarios. "Good is some random local nuke test." Frankie sent the man an incredulous look. "Didn't say they were realistic. The bad scenario, though… well it might have somethin' to do with our little problem we got goin' on."

"You think it's apocalyptic?"

"Could be."

Frankie flicked her eyes down to what little papers were left on Bobby's desktop. "Any signs of it in your research?"

"I'll look… but with all of it in a hodgepodge mess it'll take me a while."

"If it is I don't think we have that sort of time."

"Yer tellin' me. Everythin's goin' haywire. If Lilith ain't taken care of soon…," Frankie and Bobby met eyes, both holding the same dismal look, "we may be lookin' at the end in the here and now."

Frankie tried to hold the terrified tears inside. She hid them behind a false confidence she barely mustered. "What else is new?" she halfheartedly chuckled. The two went into silence. Once the air cleared, Frankie knew she needed to tell Bobby about her brother. "I have news on Dean."

The wrinkles around the man's eyes nearly evened out with how wide his eyes opened. "Were you ever gunna tell me? Spit it out! Where th' hell is he?"

Frankie crossed her arms over her chest with a heavy sigh. "You're not gunna believe this. Dean's been taken by angels." Bobby pulled a face that made Frankie nod in agreement. "He's being held hostage. I don't know where."

For a minute or two, the man didn't know what to do with the information. He settled with a soft and confused voice to respond with. "How'd you figure this out?"

Frankie scrunched her shoulders up as she tore herself up on the inside. She was still reprimanding herself with how she got on her knees and begged that angel to bring her brother back. "I prayed. To the angel Castiel. Y'know, Dean's old friend. I talked with him out back."

"You did _what_?!" Frankie flinched at his disapproving tone. "While I wasn't here?! Dean said he was on Heaven's leash again. Who knows what he coulda done to ya!"

"What was I supposed to do, Bobby? Sit around and wait for you to come tell me you couldn't find him? At least we know who has him now."

"And yet we still don't know where he is!"

Frankie shoved down the pout that was threatening to form on her lips. "I did the best I could, okay?" That was a lie. She let her temper get the best of her. "He wouldn't tell me anything else."

Bobby placed his hands on his desk to calm down and think about the new information. Frankie hoped she didn't disappoint him too much. She didn't need that on her conscience, too. After stewing in it for a few short seconds, he sucked in a breath and scratched under his hat. "What else he tell ya?"

Frankie flicked her eyes to the floor, remembering everything else Castiel had told her. "Nothing. Just that." Bobby wouldn't take the news on Sam lightly. Frankie would tell him later, when it wouldn't send his sanity downhill… more so than it already was. "What do we do now?" she asked, looking up at the man with concern in her eyes. If anyone knew how to get Dean back, it was him.

"Read up, I guess. Bound to be somethin' in here that can help us out."

Nodding her head, Frankie turned her attention to the mess at her feet. Bobby went to work at his desk, finding his papers and books from the floor and reconstructing them to the way he had them. As he did this, Frankie worked on trying to restore the study to its former glory. While she stacked, she skimmed through and handed Bobby any book that looked as if it would help in any way, which was virtually every book that had angels in them.

Deep down, as terrible as the "quake" was, she was glad to be cleaning on a large scale again. The little chores around the house were fine, but this would keep her busy – and keep her mind from horrid thoughts – for days.

Hours passed. Frankie stood up straight with her hands on her hips and looked at her progress. One quarter of the room sorted and stacked. She puffed out a proud sigh and nodded in approval. Frankie realized that it was probably passed lunch at that point and looked over her shoulder at the man behind her.

"You want something to eat?" she asked him. Just as he looked up from his work, however, the phone on his desk began to ring. All four eyes narrowed on the blaring receiver before connecting again. Who was calling and why? This thought bounced in their head as Bobby reached for the receiver and brought it to his ear.

"Hello? … Dean?!"

Frankie's spine nearly snapped in two with how fast she jerked her body around. She scurried over to the desk, tripping over a few books in the process. By the time she got over there, Bobby had put the phone on speaker so she could hear the call.

"What th' hell, boy! We thought you were gone fer good!" Bobby exclaimed into the phone.

"Aw, you can't get rid of me that easy." Frankie and Bobby half smirked at his arrogance. "How are you guys? You alright?"

"We're fine." Bobby looked over to Frankie before focusing back on the phone call. "Little shaken up, but in one piece."

"Are you okay? You're not being tortured or anything, are you?" Frankie frantically questioned, worry more than clear in her voice. She managed to pick up the small smile in Dean's voice when he spoke again.

"Not any more than usual."

"Where th' hell you run off to?" Bobby asked. "I left you on th' couch and an hour later she comes to me sayin' you up and disappeared."

"Angel hostage crisis. Magic room. Long story. Tell you about it some other time. Right now, I got a task for you."

"Hold on. We spend all day and all night lookin' fer yer ass and you call out of th' blue to ask me to do you a _task_? How 'bout you tell us where you are right now and start with that?"

Dean sighed from the other end of the line. Frankie could practically see the exact expression he was using. "Ilchester, Maryland. We're in a motel here."

"We?" Frankie immediately muttered. Bobby seemingly shared the confusion as he furrowed his brows at the phone. There was a moment of pause before Dean's voice returned to the call.

"Yeah. I'm here with Sam."

Bobby's eyes met Frankie's, the look of shock clouding them accompanied by gaping mouths. "Sam," Frankie breathed out in a whisper when their gazes switched back to the phone.

"Hey, Frankie…," his voice greeted, a somber sound in her other brother's words.

Neither Bobby nor Frankie could find the right words to say despite having many that they wanted to utter. Frankie found herself unable to even swallow at the presence of Sam on the other line.

"I'm guessin' th' angels aren't in th' picture no more." Bobby made the silent decision to worry about Sam another time and focus on the recent troubles. Frankie couldn't say she agreed.

"Yeah. I got out." Dean huffed out an incredulous chuckle. "Cas actually came around."

Frankie snapped her eyes back to the phone. Dean just said that _Castiel_ helped him? "I thought he was under Heaven's command." At least, he was the last time she saw him… or was he? She never did figure out what emotion was in his eyes before he flew off.

"He was. But I guess there's still some common sense lodged in there somewhere. He beamed me outta there and to a convent here in Maryland."

"Why there?" Bobby didn't get an answer. With narrowing brows, he and Frankie stared at the phone, waiting for some sort of response. "Dean."

"Uh," he finally muttered, "yeah, uh, that was where Chuck said Lilith would be to break the final seal."

"Well hop to it. We ain't got an eternity to stop this!" Bobby exclaimed, his voice taking on a more serious tone. It was for good reason, too. It was finally time to end this, to stop the apocalypse. No more wondering. Sam and Dean were together again and knew where Lilith would be. A welcomed relief made itself known in Frankie's chest.

"Dean." Frankie looked back up to Bobby and the phone. She hadn't realized that Dean stopped talking again.

"Bobby… we dropped the ball." Frankie and Bobby both picked up on the distress in his gruff voice.

"Whuduya mean you 'dropped th' ball'?" the older man grumbled, catching onto something being amiss. Frankie felt the relief in her chest quiver and falter.

"We were too late. The last seal broke. Me and Sam were there… we weren't quick enough."

Frankie's lungs burned, her breathing having stopped from her brother's words. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.

"Lucifer is free, Bobby."

Frankie slowly looked up at the man across from her. He wore a stony face, eyes unfocused yet sharp with anger. She could tell that a tantrum was on its way, but she wouldn't dare brace herself for it. Not when she felt the exact same inside.

"What do we do now?" Dean asked through the phone. Frankie's lips were sealed shut with fear from her nightmares becoming reality. She surely wasn't going to speak. She didn't have to, though, when Bobby tossed his hat off of his head and raked his fingers through his hair.

"We saddle up fer Armageddon, _genius_. You let Lucifer free, that's all we _can_ do."

Frankie was well aware of the tear running down her cheek. She hated herself for crying during such a time like she was faced with, but no amount of training in the time she had would prepare her for the soul twisting realization that the life she always wanted could never become reality. Now that the Devil was free, her dream of a new long life with her brothers was crushed in one phone call.

"I'm not so sure about that," Dean piped up, a light knowing tone to his words. "We had a run in with Zachariah." Frankie quirked an eyebrow. That was an angel name if she ever heard one. "He wants me to kill Lucifer, and that means there's a way to gank the bastard."

"And how is that?"

"Had no idea at first, but Chuck sent a messenger, some _Supernatural_ super-fan who gave us a hint." _Supernatural_? The book? The cheesy, wannabe horror book Frankie saw at the store? Dean chuckled into the phone and spoke quietly into the receiver. "She took a real liking to Sam. Felt him up like a blind chick at a braille petting zoo."

"What was the hint?" Bobby urged on, growing impatient with every second.

"Something like, 'find the Michael sword. It's in a castle on a hill of forty-two dogs.' A bunch of mumbo jumbo, but it means _something_."

"Forty-two dogs?" Bobby queried.

"I need you to find whatever you can on Michael's sword and get over here as fast as you can."

With a single look from Bobby, Frankie turned on her heels and fumbled through the books in stacks and the pages still at her feet for anything that could be tied to Michael or his sword. That included the large book she left on the couch that she had skimmed through the day before.

"We're on it," Bobby grunted before hanging up, placing the phone back on its mount.

Frankie had just gingerly placed a book on legendary relics in the stack in her hands when a loud scuff and crash blared behind her. She twisted around to find Bobby behind his desk, grabbing books and papers on its surface and shoving them off in enraged bursts of fury. The girl clenched her teeth in shock when a book was tossed across the room and knocked down a few of her freshly stacked columns.

Her eyes focused on the man across from her. He stood, panting in anger with his hands on top of his desk. Frankie didn't dare speak up in fear of triggering another series of tossed books. Instead, she walked over to his desk and plucked one of the remaining books from in front of him.

"I'll go pack up the truck," she quietly uttered before turning out of the room.

"Kid," he grunted. Frankie hid the slight fear she had when facing him. However, he seemed to have calmed down quite a bit, but there was no doubt that he could burst again at any moment. "Pack the Impala." Without another word, Frankie nodded and did as she was told.

In no time, the Impala was driving down the long stretching road, packed with books and the two of them inside. Frankie adjusted her backpack between her feet. She decided that it might be a dangerous trip if they weren't careful, so she brought along her machete and revolver just in case.

In her lap, Frankie was turning page after page looking for any note of Michael or his blade. So far, she found nothing, but she would keep at it, not for the sheer enjoyment of researching, but to keep her mind off of the elephant in the room… or car. But it was no use. The heavy weight of earth's near future was too much to ignore.

Frankie wasn't as scared of the end as she was when it was just a risk. She was just nervous, festering in anxiety over when the end would actually begin. Now that it was actually happening, it just didn't feel real. It was like a nightmare she couldn't pinch her way out of, a building too high to jump off of, not that she wouldn't leap in a heartbeat if she could.

She closed the book in her lap, feeling too lightheaded from the subject to continue reading. She instead took to looking out the window at the trees flying by. As she observed what would be destroyed in no time, she thought about those closest to her that would perish in the hellfire.

She had just gotten to a good place with Dean. When she first met him, she had a feeling that they would never see eye to eye, and they still didn't. He would do anything to keep her away from him and Sam, but now he encouraged her to use the guest room as her permanent quarters. The two of them had been through a lot together through her training. They began to understand each other better, and Frankie even managed to find a side of him that like to joke around, even with her. She had looked forward to the progress they still had to make, but now all that would go up in literal flames.

And with Sam… upon their first meeting, Frankie thought Sam would be the closest thing she would have to a genuine sibling, but she was severely wrong. Sam hung out with demons and drank their blood for an extra morning boost. He chose to turn his back on his own brother to do things his own way and tried to manipulate her into letting him do so. Frankie was scared to see him again. She had no idea how to act around him. She had no idea what she would say. Would he be like she last saw him, or worse? Needless to say a flat tire would be welcomed if it meant prolonging their reunion.

They drove overnight. Frankie had slept through most of night, and when she woke up she encouraged Bobby to do the same. She offered to take the wheel of the Impala – even thought Dean would certainly kill her for doing so – but he curtly refused. Frankie didn't push for the offer. The tone in his voice had said enough of where his mind was at.

He hadn't spoken a word other than the short refusal during the entire drive over and Frankie was more than unnerved by it. She would say something if she had the words, but her mouth was silent as the night they drove through.

Just before noon, Bobby pulled into a small, run down lot with a single shambled building in it. It was a nearly vacant rest stop with a gas station attached to it, only three pumps with one wearing an "out of order" sign. "Use th' restroom if you need it. I'm gunna fill up th' car."

Frankie sent an unseen smile the man's way before he parked the car next to a pump and ducked out of the vehicle. Frankie's smile fell into a frown. She sighed down to her lap before giving her heavy eyes a rub and leaning down to grab her backpack. The place looked sketchy. Call her paranoid, but she felt a lot safer having her machete on her, even to just piss.

Frankie walked out of her stall in the bathroom to wash her hands in the grimy sink. She grimaced at a spider that scurried away from the near proximity of the running water to its web. She felt gross just being in the room.

The sound of a man shouting in panic outside drove her judging thoughts away and replaced them with instant fear. Bobby was the only man she saw outside. Frankie slipped as she launched for the exit around the corner, but she caught herself on the brick wall before falling into an unknown substance. She thanked whoever was listening in before focusing back on her friend in possible distress, but when she lifted her head from the disgusting ground, she saw the exact reason why Bobby was shouting in distress.

She watched with onset horror as a large black cloud flew out of a strange man with a goatee and a backwards cap and into Bobby's gaping mouth. The stranger fell to the ground limp, but Frankie couldn't care less about him. What she fretted over was Bobby's eyes turning an undeniable black shade, filling in the last box of her inner demon possession check list.

Her screams were held back by a weak hand. It was a miracle that she didn't give away her position then and there. But the demon controlling Bobby took the gas pump out of the Impala and ducked into the driver's seat before driving – recklessly – off the lot in Dean's car… and her only transportation.

"Shit," she squeaked, finally able to bring herself to speak. She backed up from the wall, her hands finding her hair and clutching it as her heart began a painful palpitation. Bobby just got possessed by a demon. He took off in Dean's car. Frankie was left in a disgusting gas station bathroom having just watched her friend be taken over by a demon, possibly to be ripped to shreds or turned inside out. Or both.

Her fear increased with the raucous sound of a stall door slamming against the brick wall next to her. She jumped with a yelp as she turned over to the now open stall, an older woman in tattered clothes strutting out of it with unusual confidence.

"Well, hello there, toots," she greeted with a raspy voice and an almost maniacal grin. "Nice to finally meet you in the flesh."

Frankie's eyebrows knitted together as her eyes roamed over the strange woman. She was already backing away when she spoke. "Excuse me, I don't think we know each other," she warily responded.

The woman merely took a step towards Frankie the more she backed up. "That's a shame. I can be _very_ fun." Frankie was officially freaked out at that point. She was about to apologize and hurry out of the bathroom before the stranger finally made herself known to her, turning her unease to solid fear.

Her previously gray eyes were blinked away to reveal solid black behind her eyelids. Suddenly it all made sense. Not only was the stranger just a few feet away from her a demon, but it somehow knew who she was and looked like it was about to enjoy whatever they had in store for her.

"H-How do you know who I am?" Frankie asked, eyeing the exit in her peripheral vision.

"Heard about the Winchester's little sister through the grapevine." Panic flared up in her chest. So it was true. The demons were spreading news about her. "Word travels fast when you kill one of our own." The arrogant face of the demon now turned sour at the mention of Frankie's kill at Jimmy's house.

"Would it help if I said it was an accident?" Frankie warily quipped as she slowly scooched her way over the exit.

"'Fraid not, sis. A kill's a kill." Frankie was just a few inches from the corner. She only needed to find the precise moment to flee. "When I heard I had the chance to tear that sister Winchester a new one," the demon paused to mockingly purse her lips and moan, "boy, I was coming up with some _great_ ideas on how to take care of you." The demon's face then suddenly fell to a disappointed expression. "But I knew that I couldn't kill you. You're much more useful alive."

"And why's that?" Frankie questioned as she shifted her feet, readying to bolt.

"Put two and two together, Einstein. Sam and Dean Winchester's little sister in the custody of demons? Imagine the possibilities." The demon took another step closer. Another step and it would be too close to run around. "Imagine what those gun slinging morons would give to get you back safe and sound."

"Why don't you just do that with Bobby? They care more about him than me."

"Oh, we got plans for him. He's gunna pay those boys of yours a quick little visit. We got some pals over there to meet them for a little… chat."

"You bitch," Frankie growled under her breath. Her scowl was only met with cocky cackling from the monster.

As luck would have it, a rat rushed across the floor just next to the demon's foot, causing her to glance down at it. Frankie made her move. She bolted out of the bathroom, not looking back. She sprinted in no certain direction. She didn't know where she was going, but she was going there fast.

Not fast enough, though. She found herself being yanked back by her backpack and thrown to the ground. The demon stood tall above her, but Frankie wouldn't let that intimidate her. Frankie kicked the thing in the stomach. Although it didn't hurt it – known especially by the laughter it caused – it did push it back far enough for Frankie to get to her feet and unzip her backpack.

Her eyes had just caught a glance of a fist before her head jerked back from a punch to her cheek. Another punch landed in her stomach, tucking her body inward. _'Get the upper hand!'_ she could practically hear Dean saying. Listening to his command, she reached her hand forward for the demon's shirt collar and clutched it just as it grabbed a hold of her hair. As fast as she could, Frankie reared her head back, clenching back the pain of her gripped hair, and launched her head forward at the demon's.

She nearly saw stars at the impact of her head against the demon's, but it worked in sending its head backwards and loosening its grip on her hair. Her hands immediately flew to the one on top of her head. Just as Dean taught her, she struck at the elbow hard in an attempt to break it. When it didn't, she immediately wrapped her arm around the demon's and tucked it back, all the while pushing down on its back to force it into a hold.

The demon wouldn't last long like that, and it was surely strong enough to get out of it. Frankie needed to get her machete out of her backpack. She turned her head over to its discarded position on the ground just a next to her. With her arms busy, it was difficult to grab, but she tried to reach for the strap with her foot.

Without both feet holding her ground, it gave the demon an open opportunity to kick back on the only leg keeping her steady. Frankie's body was launched forward, still connected by the hold. Now having the upper hand, the demon grabbed and twisted the arm Frankie had just used to hold it down.

She wailed out in pain, but fought through it. Her hand closed down onto the handle of her machete. With a huff through her twisting arm, she flung the blade out of the bag and swung it up at the demon's neck.

She caught it just before it made a cut. With an angered growl, the demon squeezed down on Frankie's wrist. The girl snarled out in pain, but it only flared her anger. Pulling back both legs, Frankie brought them centered in just the right position and kicked the demon in the chest with the power of a bucking donkey.

From the impact and surprise of the kick, the demon went stumbling backwards. Frankie picked herself up from the ground and wasted no time in rearing her free fist back and decking the demon in its plump nose, the final blow sending it falling to the ground like a chopped tree.

Frankie had the high ground. Constricting her grip on the machete, she bared her teeth in an animalistic snarl before kneeling and raising her blade in the air. A flash image of Michael strobed in her mind, causing a slight pause, but she blinked passed it as her machete went chopping down onto the demon's forehead.

The blade split through the skull, causing a spurting geyser of blood to spray over Frankie's face. She spit out the blood that made its way into her mouth and stood to her feet. Just as the demon before it had, its body twitched and jerked with bolting shocks and light shining over it before it went limp and all light and twitching ceased.

Frankie gazed down to the lifeless body before her, its eyes no longer black and its head cleaved and bleeding. Lying on the ground was no longer a demon. It was an innocent person who had been possessed, and now that person was dead. At her hands.

Frankie felt a guilty sadness as she looked into the glassy, unfocused gray eyes beneath her. She was a murderer. There was no denying it. She knew there was a person in there and still chose the demon's death over her life. Frankie would have to go on with that guilt.

But if Dean were there, he'd tell her that she had to get used to that guilt. That it happened all the time. That people got hurt in their line of work. That it was all part of being a hunter. He was right.

Frankie looked up from the body to form a plan. Speaking of plans, the demon said they had Bobby going after Sam and Dean. She now knew where she was heading, but she needed a car and fast. Ilchester wasn't that far away from the gas station.

Looking over to her left, she spotted an empty car, most likely belonging to one of people the demons possessed. With no options, Frankie knew she had to steal the car. After closing the woman's eyelids, Frankie stepped over the body and hurried over to open the car's door.

Locked. Great. She would have to break the window. She frantically took out her revolver and held it firmly in her hand. "Alright," she said to herself. "Seen this in plenty of movies. Time to try it out for real." She reared the gun back, turned her head away, and clenched her teeth before throwing the handle at the glass.

The gun bumped right against the glass. Frankie opened her eyes and flicked them over in confusion. The impact may have cracked the window, but it wasn't broken. "Great. Okay," she huffed, getting back into position. This time, she smacked the window harder, which sent shards flying and a deafening alarm ringing throughout the property.

Knowing that the alarm might attract someone to see her breaking into a car with a freshly dead body nearby, she hurried along the criminal process and unlocked the door. "Please be quite. Please shut up," she begged the alarm as she unhinged the panel under the steering wheel. Doing just as she had many times before on Bobby's Junkers, Frankie hotwired the car in no time, which silenced the alarm, and shoved herself behind the wheel of the car. She was zooming down the street before anybody was any the wiser of her presence there.

Frankie was speeding way passed the road's limit. She knew speeding laws were placed for safety, but the safety of her family was already in jeopardy. After passing a sign that read "Now entering Ilchester," she slowed down just a touch, but remained in a hurried speed.

Now that she was nearing in on the town, Frankie grabbed her phone from the backpack and quickly dialed Dean's phone. It rang. No answer. Huffing, she dialed it again. No answer. "Dammit, Dean! Pick up your phone!"

With no answer from him, Frankie hurried to find someone else to call, but the only other option was Sam. Her eyes were torn from the road to glance down at his name, flames of anxiety flaring in her stomach at the idea of talking to him again after all the nightmares and all the fears that haunted her. Swallowing hard, she buried her fears and dialed his number. She heard her heart beating against the phone as it rang and rang and ultimately went to voicemail. "Fuck!" she screamed, slapping the phone closed. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" She repeatedly slammed the phone against the steering wheel as terror and panic slow danced in her chest.

With the thought of demons slaughtering her brothers and Bobby, Frankie threw caution to the wind and floored the gas pedal, zooming down the road in frenzied fear.

A few miles down the road, Frankie noticed the car getting increasingly slower. When it began jerking and sputtering concerning noises, Frankie noticed the gas gauge was on empty. Completely empty.

"No. Oh no, no, no. Not now! Please not now!"

Yelling out in frustration, Frankie parked the car on the side of the road and threw open the door to storm out, grabbing her backpack from the passenger seat. She rotated around to glare down at the gasless piece of crap. Screaming expletives at it, she gave it a hard kick to the side, which started the alarm up again. Wide eyed and panicking, Frankie decided to hop on her feet before sprinting away from the stolen vehicle so that no one saw her with it.

Now on the side of the road just at the entrance of civilization, Frankie decided that running was the best option for getting to the motel. It would be a risk to wait for someone to pull over and drive her there. And besides, she never got her daily run in, so she thought that to be her workout for the day.

She got many strange looks as she dashed down the sidewalk and around random bystanders, but they were merely blurs to her. The only things she focused on were the business signs on buildings in the hope that one of them was the motel her brothers had been staying at. So far, it didn't look good. She was just grateful that her daily jog conditioned her for the long run she was putting herself through.

She began to get winded, however, a few more miles through the city. She was beginning to taste iron in her throat with each breath by the time she passed the library, but she wouldn't slow down. Not yet.

"Frankie?"

Her head jerked to the side when she heard her name. At least she thought she did. It was hard to hear anything passed the rushing blood pounding in her ears.

"Frankie! Stop!"

She was sure she heard her name called. Deeming that a proper excuse to slow down, she stopped her sprint by catching herself on a light post and swinging around to look behind her. Her chest heaved with each pant. She ran her shaking fingers through her hair slick with fresh sweat as she glanced around for whoever might have called her. It was difficult when everything seemed to be getting farther away even though she remained stationary.

"Frankie!" she heard come again. This time it was closer. She turned her head over to where she had heard the voice come from to find a familiar face hurry over to her side. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at Bobby's," Sam confusedly asked as he looked down at Frankie.

The girl was taken aback at the sudden presence of Sam. Her instincts told her to step back, but she was too tired to even speak.

"What are you running from?"

"Wh-… why…," Frankie breathed between pants. Talking seemed like a fantasy as she tried to catch her breath.

"What?" Sam muttered. When Frankie bent down to place her hands on her knees, Sam finally noticed her exhaustion. He placed a hand on Frankie's back. She felt like pulling away from his touch, but he was stronger than her weak form as he pulled her away from the light post. "Come here. Sit down," he instructed, leading her over to a bench. Frankie finally found some strength and pushed against him.

"I can't. Why… w-why didn't you pick up your… your phone?"

Sam's brows furrowed over his eyes before he reached in his pocket for his phone. As he looked down at the screen, Frankie couldn't help but look into his eyes. They were not how she left them. The eyes she saw in the panic room were hard and sharp, hazel orbs of anger and hate. But the eyes before her were more familiar than that. She saw those soft concerning eyes the very first day they met.

"I must've had the ringer turned off. What were you calling ab-?"

Frankie had stopped his words when she clutched her hands onto his shirt. He held up is hands in confusion, not knowing what to expect from the sweat dripping sister of his. "Bobby… Bobby is… is-"

"At the motel?" Sam suggested, trying to fill in the blanks the panting Frankie was leaving.

"Demon!" she yelped out, finally getting her point out.

"Demon?" Sam repeated, taking a moment before finally understanding what she was trying to tell him. His eyes widened, his mouth agape. "Oh my god."

Sam leading the way, the two of them ran over to his and Dean's motel. It wasn't too far, just down the street, but Frankie felt ready to collapse when they reached the stairs up to the second floor.

But she got her rush of adrenaline when she and Sam heard the indistinguishable sounds of struggle within one of the rooms. Frankie knew the demons had gotten there before her.

Sam hurried over to the door, slamming it open with Frankie trailing several feet behind, notably slower than his quick, rested feet. When she finally reached the doorway, the sight was nauseating.

Bobby lay unconscious and bleeding from the stomach on the floor, a knife that she recognized as her brothers' protruding from his stomach. That alone squeezed her heart with an iron grip, but what really turned her vision red was the sight of both of her brothers being whaled on by demons, one a bald man mercilessly kicking Dean in the ribs and one a dark haired woman pulling all sorts of moves on Sam.

Her nails dug into her palms as she watched those monsters hurt her family. So she wouldn't watch anymore. She would act.

She yanked her backpack off of her shoulders, a growl roaring out of her throat. Her feet stomped over to the bald demon as her growl turned into a primal snarl. The demon had just looked over in her direction when she swung her backpack like a bat at its face, sending it stumbling back into the wall.

Not wasting a moment, Frankie grabbed her machete out of the bag and reared it back like she had done it her whole life. The demon barely had time to react before she chopped the blade diagonally through its clavicle, sending it into the same twitching, bleeding, and shocking fit that the other demons went through. The demon fell lifeless to the ground, a husk of the violent murderer it once was.

Now for the other one.

Frankie pivoted on her heels to face the other demon, now standing up and away from Sam. Frankie must have been a sight: having suddenly appeared with a no-nonsense glower on her face, her teeth bared in a snarl and her blade dripping with the blood of a demon.

It must have intimidated the other demon something fierce as it fled from the girl's body once Frankie began marching over to it. She watched, squinted eyed, as the black cloud cowered away from the fight and through the air vent on the wall behind her.

Frankie's chest heaved a weary breath as her rage passed and left her with the weight of the exhaustion she earned. She nearly dropped her machete to the floor with how flimsy and weak her arms felt, but she gripped it tighter in her hand.

Excitement over, she looked down to Dean on the floor. She expected to see some sort of gratitude. Maybe even approval of her training paying off. But she instead saw a scowl, a scowl pointed directly at her.

She was utterly confused, not seeing how saving his life would earn her a glower, but when his eyes flicked down to the blade in her hand, everything became clear.

He figured it all out. The secret was now out in the open. He figured out how she was able to kill the demon at Jimmy's house. And he wasn't happy about it.

"Bobby!" Sam groaned from the other side of the room. The reminder of their bleeding friend pulled Dean's attention away from her, and after the anxious air passed, Frankie joined them.

He was still alive, but wouldn't be for long if he continued to bleed out. The three of them rushed Bobby out of the motel room and down the stairs to the Impala. They carefully laid him in the backseat with Frankie. She held him steady as they sped down the road to the nearest hospital.

Frankie looked down at the groaning man. She couldn't afford to lose him. Not after all the fear that simmered through her during the quake, not after the worry she felt when he was possessed, and certainly not now. She wouldn't lose him. She refused to.

They screeched to a halt when they reached the hospital. Frankie held tight onto Bobby so he didn't fall from the seat. Sam and Dean rushed out of their seats and hurried to the back. They pulled the man from the car and held onto each arm, Frankie following closely behind, not wanting to be a single foot away from him.

They were immediately approached by a nurse upon walking through the double doors. "What happened?" she urgently asked.

"He was stabbed!" Dean shouted, struggling to hold his half of Bobby.

The nurse ordered for a gurney and placed him on top with help from other nurses. Frankie couldn't bear the sight of the man bleeding on the pristine roller and turned around before any tears were shed. This was not a time to cry.

"Stay here," the nurse commanded.

"No, no, we can't just leave him!" Sam argued, pointing at the distancing gurney down the hall.

"Just don't move," the nurse ordered, her eyes refusing to take any nonsense the boys may give her. "I got questions." And then she was heading down the hall after the other nurses and Bobby.

"Sammy, we gotta go," urged Dean, gaining Frankie's attention.

"No. No way, Dean," Sam breathed, running his anxious hands through his hair. Frankie stared right at Dean, not believing that he wanted to leave Bobby there.

"The demons heard where the sword is." The girl's eyes then widened. The sword? He was worried about some stupid sword when Bobby could possibly die at any moment?! "We gotta get to it before they do. If we're not too late already."

Sam gave a weary look back at Bobby and nodded reluctantly. "Frankie, stay here with Bobby," he instructed before turning towards the door. The girl nodded after him, knowing well and good that she wasn't about to leave Bobby's side for a second.

"No. She comes with us."

Frankie snapped her head around, speaking in unison with Sam. "What?" they both exclaimed.

"I'm not leaving. I won't leave him," she argued, shaking her head. It was becoming increasingly hard to keep the tears in their ducts.

"We need you for backup. The more of us, the better the chance." Frankie continued to shake her head. As she did, she flicked her eyes over to Sam. He looked more confused than her. It made enough sense. The last time he was with her Dean didn't want anything to do with her, but now he said that she would give them a fighting chance. She would be surprised if he _wasn't_ confused.

"Dean…," Frankie breathed out. She didn't need to say anything else. Her misty eyes were enough to get the point across that she was scared of leaving Bobby alone. Dean, however, wasn't having it and leaned closer to her, urgency more than present in his own eyes.

"You either come with us, or hand over your machete. Your choice."

Frankie felt a deep helplessness sink in her chest. He was giving her a choice she couldn't bear to answer. She could either leave Bobby at the hospital or have them take away her machete for good. The look Dean gave her was evidence enough that if she handed over her weapon, he wouldn't be giving it back.

Finally, she nodded her head with a defeated sigh. It was enough of a gesture that sent them running for the car and hopping inside, speeding off to their next destination, wherever that was.

"Where are we going?" Frankie asked as soon as they were a good ways down the road.

"Dad had a storage unit where he kept important items in his possession. That's where we're headed," Sam answered. "Dean figured out the riddle Chuck gave us."

"So that's where Michael's supposed sword is?"

"We think so."

Frankie nodded her head. Her heart was still pounding in her chest and not all of it was from the ordeal with Bobby. Part of it was because Dean had yet to speak up about her machete. She dared to look in the front of the car only to meet eyes with him in the rearview mirror. She snapped her eyes away as fast as she could, hoping it wouldn't trigger a conversation about it. Thankfully, he didn't speak up. She just knew there was going to be a nice little talk about it when they were alone.

They finally reached Castle Storage after a bit of a drive. Now that they arrived, Sam and Dean followed their routine of getting out of the car and gathering at the back of the Impala. Frankie got out of the car as they began rifling through their trunk of weapons. Frankie pulled her machete out of the backpack as well as her revolver. She opened the cylinder to find it mostly empty.

A noise from Dean caught her attention and she looked over in his direction. She just barely had enough time to catch an object he threw her way. She observed it to find that it was a box of ammo. She looked back over to him to smile in thanks, but he had already gone back to prepping for the fight.

After all three of them were equipped with their weapons, Sam and Frankie pressed themselves against the wall next to the unit's door as Dean picked the lock. As soon as it was open, Sam stepped in with his shotgun at the ready, only to stop as soon as he entered.

Dean and Frankie walked in behind Sam to find bodies already dead on the ground. Former meat suits to demons no doubt. The three of them slowly made their way into the room, guns ready to fire if needed as they looked for any remaining threats.

As they went through their search, Frankie couldn't help but marvel at the space around her. She knew John was a hunter, but he must have been quite the expert in his field. The room was adorned with demon and monster traps and was filled with trinkets and interesting objects that were foreign to her. There was a fence that separated a portion of the room like a cage. She was both fearful and intrigued at what the cage was meant for. She recognized a few things from her studies, but the amount of new things was equally matched. She wished she had the time to fully investigate the unit to pick up on what John left behind.

"I see you told the demons where the sword is."

Frankie, Sam, and Dean all flinched towards a seemingly phantom voice that had entered the room. When they turned their heads over to the entrance to the fenced cage, three suited men had suddenly appeared before them. It seemed like Sam and Dean knew who they were, especially since Sam pushed Frankie behind them as if to protect her. She found that strange considering how he apparently felt towards his own family.

"Oh, thank god the angels are here," Dan sarcastically quipped. Frankie cowered slightly behind Sam at the mention of angels.

"And to think," the main angel – balding with wily eyes – continued, "they could've grabbed it any time they wanted." He stepped over a dead body to raise his hands towards the door across the room. With just a small drag of his fingers, the door screeched closed as if on its own. "It was right in front of 'em."

"What do you mean?" Sam grunted. Frankie tried to peek just enough around his shoulder to where she wouldn't be seen by the angels.

"We may have planted that particular piece of prophecy inside Chuck's skull, but it happened to be true." Frankie narrowed her eyes. She felt really out of place and lost already. "We _did_ lose the Michael sword, we truly couldn't find it." She really didn't like the look in this guy's eyes. They didn't look angelic at all. At least Castiel's weren't shadowed by possible devious intent. "Until now. You just hand delivered it to us."

Now Frankie was truly, utterly lost. And it seemed like she wasn't the only one. "We don't have anything," Dean firmly announced.

The angel's face appeared frustrated and burdened as he sucked in a hampered breath. "It's _you_ , chucklehead."

Now Frankie knew she wasn't the only one hopelessly confused. So the sword wasn't a sword at all… and it was actually Dean? Frankie felt a headache coming along, but she couldn't lift her hand to rub her temple, especially since the angel was stepping closer, making it hard to hide behind Sam. Luckily for her, though, he was more focused on Dean.

"You're the Michael sword." Whereas Dean would usually bite back with an insult in sarcastic form, now he was silent, meaning that not even he could escape the weight of the issue at hand. "What? You thought you could _actually_ kill Lucifer?" the angel continued. "You simpering wad of insecurity and self-loathing? No. You're just a human, Dean." The angel looked down as he began to walk off. "Not much of one."

"What do you mean I'm the sword?" Dean growled, his anger beginning to come forth.

"You're Michael's weapon. Or rather his 'receptacle.'"

"… I'm a _vessel_?"

"You're _the_ vessel. Michael's vessel."

"How? Wh-Why me?"

"Because you're chosen!" the angel declared in a suddenly jaunty tone. "It's a great honor, Dean."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, life as an angel condom." Well, at least he was making insults again. "That's _real_ fun. I think I'll pass, thanks."

The angel shook his head and spoke in a quiet voice. "Joking… always joking, well… no more jokes." He then lifted his fingers as if they were a gun and pointed them right at Dean like he would shoot him. Her brother stepped back, but the oncoming blow was not meant for him. The angel shifted the fingers to point at Sam, and then pointed down to his legs. "Bang," he said.

As if on command, Sam screamed out in harmony with the sound of breaking bones. He collapsed to the ground, clutching his leg in agony as if it were really shot. "Sam!" Frankie cried out as she fell to tend to him, secrecy be damned. She didn't care if she was hidden. Her shield was gone anyway.

She glared up at him for harming her brother. It didn't matter if he was an angel. She would beat the shit out of him and she let him know that through her glower.

But she noticed him narrowing his brows at her. It was probably from her sudden presence in the room, but he was an angel. She was sure he knew she was there to begin with. If that was so, then why did he look so confused in that split second?

"You sonnuva bitch!" Dean growled from above her.

"Keep mouthing off I'll break more than his legs," the angel bit back, flicking his eyes from Frankie to Dean. "I am completely and utterly through screwing around. The war has begun and we don't have our general. That's bad. Now Michael is going to take his _vessel_ and lead the final charge against the adversary. You understand me?"

"How many humans die in the crossfire, huh?" Dean growled in response. "A million? Five? _Ten_?"

"Probably more if Lucifer goes unchecked. You know how many die? _All_ of them. He'll roast the planet alive." Frankie closed her eyes and lowered her head. It was bad enough hearing this from herself. It was even worse hearing it from the source material.

"There's a reason you're telling me this," Dean muttered. Frankie lifted her head to look up at him along with Sam. "Instead of just nabbing me… You need my _consent_." The angel blinked at the man. "Michael needs my say-so to ride around in my skin."

Frankie absentmindedly placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder as he shivered with pain. "Unfortunately yes," the angel admitted.

Dean humorlessly smirked as he shook his head. "There's gotta be another way."

"There is _no_ other way. There _must_ be a battle. Michael _must_ defeat the serpent. It is written."

"Yeah, maybe. But on the other hand… _eat me_. The answer's no." Frankie held her breath at her brother's snark. While she encouraged confidence, she saw firsthand what that confidence got them. Sam had a broken leg all because Dean was joking. Now that he was joking again, what would the angel do?

That last thought horrified her even more when his eyes flicked back down to her.

"Okay. How about this?" He gestured down to her next to Sam. "Your sister, right?" Dean glanced down at her. She could see that he was trying to keep his composure under the threat about to come. "Oh yes, I've heard about her. She's the talk of the town down below. Did you know that? Of course we had to check this out for ourselves, and we found quite the treasure trove of useful information. Like, say for example…," he trailed off just for him to repeat his previous actions. He raised his fist and quickly extended his fingers towards her.

All thoughts in Frankie's mind fizzed into nothingness as a sudden, overwhelming pain splintered through her abdomen. Keeling over while wrapping her arms around her sides, Frankie winced at the pain akin to a rabid badger trying to claw its way out of her body. When the strong taste of iron fell onto her tongue and a wetness made itself known on her chin, Frankie brought a hand up to her nose to find it pouring with blood.

"What did you do?!" Dean roared somewhere above her. She couldn't see him. She couldn't see anything as she pressed her forehead to the cold, cracked floor under her. She felt a phantom hand rest on her back, but she couldn't bring herself to tell them that her back was hurting just as bad.

"Oh, I simply quickened the clock on her little kidneys and filled them with bundles and bundles of cysts. Frankie here is now suffering from acute kidney failure. Without treatment, she'll die right here on the ground." Dean was wrong. Angels weren't dicks. They were goddamn cock bags. "I can heal her right now if you just say yes."

Frankie barely managed to make out Dean's voice above her. "No," he muttered resolutely.

"Then how about we heal _you_ from… stage four stomach cancer."

Frankie turned her head, her cheek against the floor, to watch as Dean fell to his knees hacking and coughing up a storm into his hand. He lowered his palm to reveal a puddle of blood running down the side. Fighting to keep his composure, he glared up at the angel and spoke firmly. "No."

"Then let's get really creative. Uh, let's see how Sam does without his lungs."

Frankie struggled to move her head, but once she did she witnessed Sam flailing and gasping as he struggled to breathe without the proper tools for it. "S-Sam," she wheezed through her own pain. She crawled as best as she could over to him.

"Are we having fun yet?" the angel cockily asked above all three of them. Glancing back at the bastard, he leaned down to grab her brother's face and spoke softly to him. "You're going to say yes, Dean."

"Just kill us," he wetly grunted in response.

"Kill you?" the angel repeated, letting go of his face and standing straight again. "Oh no. I'm just getting started."

A sudden flash of white light nearly blinded Frankie. She clamped her eyes shut and turned her head away, a sharp pain infiltrating her head in response to the unexpected bright glow in the room.

With her eyes closed, Frankie could only hear what was going on in the room, and whatever was going on was very physical. She heard punching, clashing, a sickeningly wet sound that could only be caused by some sort of stabbing or slashing, the crunching and breaking of bones, as well as a scream of agony accompanied by yet another impossibly white light.

And then it was suddenly quiet, only the sounds of two feet getting closer to the group were heard before the angel spoke back up. "How are you-?"

"Alive?" a new yet familiar voice interrupted. "That's a good question. How did these two end up on that airplane? Another good question, because the angels didn't do it." Frankie turned her head and opened her eyes to the new voice in the room. There stood Castiel. She couldn't believe how grateful she felt seeing him instead of another angel. "I think we both know the answer, don't we?"

"No… that's not possible…," the balding angel whispered. Frankie was overjoyed with how scared he sounded.

"Scares you. Well it should. Now put these boys back together and _go_. I won't ask twice."

Frankie's eyebrows lifted at the commanding Castiel. He just killed two of his own kind and threatened another. She supposed it was safe to say that he was back on their side. She must've gotten through to him. Thank God.

The bastard angel flew off in a huff, leaving the four of them in the storage unit. Sam sat up, suddenly able to breathe and walk again. Dean stood up along with him, his stomach no longer cancerous.

But Frankie was still bleeding through her nose. Frankie was still in unbearable pain.

Her brothers and Castiel carried on a conversation as if nothing was wrong. They didn't seem to notice that they were as healthy as before, but that douchebag didn't fix her, too. She lifted a weak hand reaching out for someone's leg. After a few tries, she finally nabbed one, clutching on the pants leg and yanking on it.

"Frankie?" she heard Sam exclaim. Their conversation broke to notice her squirming in pain behind them.

"'Bout time y-y'all… noticed," she groaned.

"What's going on? What's happening?" Dean shouted, joining Sam as he crouched by her side. "I thought he fixed you!"

"Guess not," she grunted with a roll of her eyes.

"Cas! Can't you do something here?" he asked the angel. The three of them looked over to Castiel expectantly, Frankie more than anyone.

"I'm sorry." Her heart sank, her face fell. "I can't."

"What?" she squeaked, the blood on her chin dripping to the ground noisily.

"I'm cut off from Heaven… much of Heaven's power. Certain things I can do, certain things I can't. Healing is one of those things."

Frankie began hyperventilating. In her condition, it was both painful and dangerous, but she couldn't stop it. Basically what Castiel was saying was that her kidneys were full of cysts and they were failing fast, and that he couldn't do anything about it.

This was it. After only less than a month, her lifelong nightmare was being realized. She was going to die from her disease just like her mother. As if the apocalypse wasn't bad enough.

"C'mon. We gotta get you to a hospital."

She was indifferent to Sam picking her up in his arms and rushing her out of the storage unit, Dean following closely behind him.


	20. Chapter 19 - Burden

**A/N: A little note to both thank you all again and to wish you a MERRY CHRISTMAS and a HAPPY HOLIDAYS to y'all! You've made this half year so much fun and I thank you. Cheers!**

* * *

"We don't know why this happened so suddenly, but it does happen. But it's your age that's more concerning than the cause. Usually, ADPKD occurs later in life, but… it is possible to become affected this young."

Though the doctor was facing her and clearly speaking to her directly, Frankie continued to stare blankly out the window, still as a statue as the man relayed to her things she already knew.

The doctor stood awkwardly by her side. He was at a loss for how to go on from there, but luckily for him Sam and Dean were ready to keep him talking. "Okay, Doc, let's talk treatment. What do we gotta do?" Dean asked in a no nonsense attitude.

"Treatment?" the man echoed as he turned, his long white coat fluttering slightly from the movement.

"Yeah," Sam chimed in. "What's the cure?"

"And don't bother us with the cost. We don't wanna hear it. Just tell us the process," Dean added.

The look on the doctor's face was not reassuring. "Unfortunately, there is no known cure for PKD. Not yet. We have Francine on-"

"Frankie."

The doctor blinked at Dean in small surprise. "I'm sorry?"

"Her name's Frankie. Not Francine."

Sam spared a small look over to his brother, brows narrowed and slight confusion within him. He couldn't deny that things were different between Dean and Frankie since he had been gone. It was perplexing how he went from wanting nothing to do with her to insisting she join them on missions. It made Sam feel like he missed out on something important, and that made him feel even more horrible for what he had done.

"Frankie. Of course," the doctor continued. "We currently have her on dialysis since one of her kidneys has failed. I'm afraid in her condition the other won't be far behind. She's very weak. We could have done surgery to remove many of the concerning cysts, but there are just too many. It would do more harm than good to make the attempt."

Sam flicked his eyes over to his sister lying still and sunken on the bed. "So there's nothing we can do?" he asked.

"I'm sorry. But the only option she has of survival is a transplant."

"Alright, so go down to the cellar, grab a kidney, and shove it inside her! Time's of the essence!" Dean barked, slapping his hands on top of his knees.

"It's not that easy," Sam sighed at his brother.

"He's right," the doctor spoke. "We don't just have kidneys lying around. We've put her on a waitlist for a donation, but it doesn't look good. There are many ahead of her. Unless you know of a match willing to donate, Frankie will have to wait." Dean sat back in his chair with a huff as he rubbed a hand over his face. "She's lucky, though. With the amount of cysts that formed in such a short time, she would have surely died. It's a miracle that she's alive." He then turned to face Frankie with a smile and tapped her arm with the folder in his hands. "You must have an angel watching over you."

"God, let's hope not," Dean grunted. The doctor turned his head over to him with a bemused look before Sam cleared his throat to pull the conversation from his remark.

"Uh, thank you, Dr. Hannigan. We'll keep all that in mind."

The doctor nodded his head to him before excusing himself and walking out of the room, leaving Sam, Dean, and Frankie alone. The room was quiet. Sam tried to avert his eyes from the silent girl on the bed, not feeling up to facing what that damn angel had done to his sister, but it was very different for his brother in the chair next to him.

Dean forced himself to look at her. He forced himself to take in the smell of latex and disinfectant and to listen to the constant beeping from the heart monitor beside the bed. He forced himself to observe the environment around him, because to him this was all his fault.

He made Frankie go with them to the storage unit, he made her go inside instead of keeping watch, and he drew her into the crossfire of Zachariah's attack on them when he refused to say yes to Michael. If given the chance to do it over again, he would still say no, but he would make sure Frankie was nowhere near those goddamn angels. She didn't deserve what she got. That dick Zachariah owed her two good kidneys and he wouldn't rest until that smug bastard paid for it.

A sigh from Sam caught Dean's attention. "We should check on Bobby," he whispered to him. Reluctantly, Dean nodded his head with his own sigh, knowing that Bobby would be wondering how Frankie was, too.

"Um… Frankie?" Sam spoke as he lifted himself from his chair and made his way over to the bed. Just as before, she made no move to respond. She remained gazing solemnly out of the window. Sam pressed on despite not even knowing if she was listening. "Is there anything you need? Anything we can get you?" No answer. "Maybe… something you wanna tell Bobby? We're about to go see him and check how he's doing. We can give him a message if you want." Not a word left her lips.

"C'mon, Franks. You can't think of anything you need?" Dean asked, stepping up next to Sam. "I could run down to the cafeteria and pick you up some of those chicken strips that smell like motor oil." He tried to sell his joke with one of his signature half smirks, but it had no effect on the bedridden girl. The smirk faded. "Not hungry, I guess. Uh… we'll check back with you later, okay?" This time he knew she wouldn't answer and didn't wait for one. "C'mon, Sam," he quietly ushered, heading towards the door without looking back.

"Dean."

Both he and Sam snapped their heads around, having just reached the door before Frankie called his name. "Yeah?" he responded, quick and clear.

Her chest rose and fell in a deep sigh as she collected her breath. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" he repeated, brows narrowing in confusion. He flicked his eyes to Sam before bringing them back to her. "For what?"

Frankie finally moved. She adjusted her shoulders and sank even more into the bed, but she didn't move her head from the window. "For not telling you about my machete. I should have told you the moment I found out. I was scared you'd take it away." The corner of her mouth made the slightest twitch, making it look like an attempt to smile. "Probably would have been better off if you had."

"Look, uh," Dean spoke up, ceasing anything else she had to say on the matter, "don't worry about that stuff right now. Just… focus on getting better. We'll talk about it later." He turned to walk out the door before Frankie's hushed voice fluttered into his ears.

"Doesn't look like I'll have a later."

Dean cut his eyes back to her, brows furrowed into a scowl, but it was Sam who reacted first. "Don't talk like that! Of course you have a later. Nothing's gunna happen to you, alright?"

"You're really buying into that hope and miracle crap? I'd rather you be realistic."

"Hey. We _are_ being realistic. You're gunna be fine. Trust us," Dean snapped. Frankie wasn't buying it. "You're gunna walk out of this place with a fresh, non-cyst filled kidney. Hell, maybe two. You never know who's dying nowadays. I promise you're gunna be fine."

"Promise?" Frankie hissed, finally turning her head away from the glass. Her eyes held a glower that Dean hadn't seen yet, and he saw many glowers from her. "You promise that I'll make it out of here alive? One of my kidneys has stopped working and the other is running on half power. I'm nowhere near next in line for a transplant and I don't have a donor. And you promise I'll be okay? I call bullshit."

"It doesn't hurt being optimistic," Sam butt in, voice soft yet stern.

"Optimism is just a fancy word for giving up without knowing it yet," the girl sighed, sinking back into the depression she made in the bed. "I should know. I've been in hospitals before. I know how these things work." She brought a hand up to her forehead and closed her eyes, lying in silence. Sam and Dean shared a look with each other. Despite their will to deny it, she was more experienced with those kinds of things and was probably right, but they wouldn't have it. "Look," she spoke back up, voice small and weak. "I want you guys to do me a favor, okay? A really big favor."

"Yeah. Anything," Sam answered for him and Dean. The two men looked down to Frankie as she opened her eyes and plopped her arm back down to her side.

She gave a soul deep sigh before turning her head over to her brothers. "Forget about me." She didn't give them a chance to respond even though the puzzled glares on their faces showed that they had a lot to say. "It's the apocalypse. I'm stuck in this hospital while the Devil walks the earth, and I can't do a damn thing about it." Sam clenched his jaw and looked down to the tiled floor. "I'm useless. More than before. If there was a purpose for me before, if I was useful enough then, I'm not now. I've become something I've dreaded since the day I found out I had brothers. I'm a burden. A big, fat goddamn burden on y'all and… and I'm sorry."

"Frankie. You're not a burden to us. You could never be a burden."

"That's sweet, Sam, but it's a lie. You don't have to pretend. Since I showed up in that diner, I've become an extra weight on your shoulders. I know that. I wanted to believe that I could make up for it by training and showing that I can help y'all. But look at me. I'm right back where I started. A sick, weak little girl who's journey ends in white sheets and IV bags." Frankie tightened her lips in a sad excuse for a humorless smile. "Y'know, it's funny. While I was training with you, Dean… I didn't think about my kidneys once. I had… actually forgotten that I had my mom's disease. For a short time… I was just a girl training to be a hunter to prevent the end of the world. Eh… it was nice while it lasted."

"It's talk like that that'll send you outta here in a body bag," Dean grunted, stepping closer to her bed to catch her attention.

" _Dean_ ," Sam hissed in response to his harsh tone. The man ignored him.

"Now you listen to me," he warned. Frankie held his gaze in her tired eyes. "You are gunna get a kidney, and you are gunna walk outta this place with your usual, irritating, grouchy voice whining about something with a roll of your eyes. Okay? You're not gunna die in this room feeling sorry for yourself because of what some asshole angel did to you. This was not your fault. Now you are gunna buck up and get in the right mindset 'cause when you're ready to walk outta here we've got some serious work to do."

"Don't make the effort for me, Dean. I'm not worth it." The statement deepened the man's scowl. "Even if I do miraculously get a kidney and even if I do walk out of here healthy and ready to fight, what are the chances that I'll die in the crossfires anyway? What are the chances that the bald asshat who did this to me will come back to finish the job? Pretty damn high, I'll tell you that!" She gave a moment for Dean to rebuttal, but her words of truth seemed to momentarily stun him. She continued on with a softer voice than before. "The effort to save me now will just be pointless when I die later on. I don't want y'all to wait around on me when you could be out there saving those who _really_ need your help."

"Frankie, we're not arguing about this. Now shut up and listen to me." The girl sighed through her nose and complied. "I'm sick and tired of this kind of talk. A hunter doesn't talk like this. Now you are gunna lift that chin up and focus on getting better, and I promise in no time you will have a kidney delivered to you, wrapped in ribbon and a big, bright red bow on top. Prime condition. I guarantee it. Right now, we just need you to not give up on yourself, alright?" He had just remembered something when his face softened and he leaned down to clasp her shoulder, his eyes losing their intensity for something more gentle. "We'll make that rule number four, okay? Never give up. Not even when it looks like a lost battle. Hell, _especially_ when it looks like a lost battle. You understand me?"

It almost looked as if tears pooled in Frankie's eyes, but she swallowed them down, not wanting to cry even in her darkest moment. Her throat bobbed as her face evened out, her chest heaving a great sigh before pointing glassy eyes up to her eldest brother. The smallest smile ghosted across her lips. "Always listen to Dean," her voice croaked.

Sam and Dean left Frankie in her room to walk out into the hallway. Before they left for Bobby's room, they stuck around for a moment to look at the depressed girl through the door's window. She had reverted back to looking lazily at the world beyond her reach through glass.

"Prime condition, huh?" Sam muttered, not tearing his eyes from the sick girl.

Dean made a defeated noise in the back of his throat. "I had to say something. She was gunna grieve herself to death."

The taller man turned his head over to his brother, a troubled look plastered over his worrisome features. "What are we gunna do? How are we gunna fix this?"

Dean clenched his jaw with a quirk of his brow. "I don't know about you, but I'm gunna find that sonnuva bitch Zachariah and make him read my heels."

"Do we… do we have ourselves tested?"

Dean glanced at Sam with tightened lips before shuffling his feet and holding up his hands. "Hey, that waitress told me she was clean, alright. I think I'm good."

"Dean. I'm serious."

The older man sighed, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe and gazing back into the room. "I know."

"I mean we _are_ her half-brothers. There's a good chance one of us might be a match so…," Dean met eyes with Sam, knowing exactly what he was getting at. "Should we?"

Dean shifted against the wall for a few moments before huffing and pushing off of the door frame. "Yeah, you do that, and I'm gunna check and see if Bobby has any ideas on our next move."

Sam glared at Dean as he turned to walk down the hall. He grabbed his shoulder and whipped him around before he got too far. "Wait… you're not gunna even check? What if you end up being a match?"

"And then what? Carve myself open and just assume the angels are gunna fly with that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Sam, I'm Michael's vessel. Pretty much all of Heaven has me on their radar and the minute they find out I'm unconscious on an operating table they'll come raising hell in here to make sure _I'm_ in prime condition."

Sam glared to the side with a nod of his head. Licking his dry lips, he set his jaw and evened his voice. "You don't know that'll happen. They may not even care about a missing kidney."

"And if they do? You really wanna risk the lives of everyone on this floor alone for a kidney?"

"And what about Frankie? You're just gunna let her wait around for someone _else_ to die?"

"No. _You_ can check to see if you're a match. You might be. Then _you_ can lay under all those doctors and knives and crap."

"Yeah…," Sam sighed, placing his hands on his hips and shifting his feet, "I don't know about that."

Dean raised his eyebrows and lightly spread out his arms. "What now?"

Memories of his hallucination in the panic room flashed back to him. "I mean… Dean, even if I _did_ get it all out of my system with Lilith… I probably still have some demon blood left in me. There might be some in my own kidneys and if there is…," he trailed off with a long sigh, Dean nodding his head at his unfinished point. "It'll probably do worse for her than the cysts. I can't put her through that."

A long period of silence passed. The two brothers stood in front of each other with heavy shoulders. Dean stood with his arms crossed over his chest as Sam's hands rested on his hips, both contemplating in the still air of the hallway. "So…," Dean finally spoke, "I guess neither of us are giving her our kidneys."

"Then what do we do?"

Dean brought a lone hand up to his face and rubbed it all over, leaving no area untouched. "If you come up with a plan, let me know. 'Cause I sure as hell don't have one." He turned his head to the small window, gazing with sorrowful, guilty eyes at the girl he had failed. "Guess I'll check the terminal wing for donors."

* * *

They say everyone becomes their parents. This was not really what Frankie had hoped for. Yes, she had always known she would end up in a hospital, but she had held out a hope that she would be successful in finding a kidney donor. That was a reality she had never reached.

Granted, she expected to be there ten years later instead of there in that moment, but how was she to know that angels were assholes? Plus, there was a bright side. She wouldn't have to live through the reign of Lucifer on earth. That was the one saving grace that kept her mind from roaming to unsavory thoughts.

But she couldn't help but wonder what could have been. In ten years, would she have been a great hunter like her brothers? Would they have found a way to kill Lucifer and have done away with him? Would she be married? Have a family? Or would she have chosen a secluded life alongside Sam and Dean? Would they be driving down long, stretching roads, saving people and hunting things? Reveling in the family business? Such a life seemed so glamorous and so close to grasp.

But here she was on a cold bed in scratchy sheets, listening to her own heartbeat on a machine. Here she was aching from a dead organ inside her body. Here she was gazing out of a window to keep herself from bawling her eyes out like a weak-skinned baby. She would go out dry-eyed and emotionless like a real hunter.

But did she have the strength for that?

She didn't get a chance to answer her own question when the door to her room opened. She sighed, not feeling up to answering even more questions from unsympathetic nurses. Though when she turned her head over to the room's entrance, she saw a figure there that she didn't despise.

"Bobby," she breathed out in relief. There stood the man, held up only by two long crutches. She narrowed her eyes at them, the sight of him needing assistance irking her.

"Hey, kid," he greeted with a sideways smile. He wobbled further into the room at an easy pace. Frankie looked down to his legs. From the sight of it only one was moving. It looked as if one was complete numb as he hopped on his left leg. Once he finally reached a chair, he hesitated before adjusting his body and slowly easing himself into the seat. Frankie felt a sick pain in her chest to see him so impaired.

He caught her looking despairingly at his legs. Scrunching up his face in a grimace, she scowled down to his outstretched right leg. "Paralyzed. Can you believe that?" The sick feeling in Frankie's chest spread like a wildfire at the drop of that word. "Eh… what do these brainy kooks know. It ain't paralyzed. Just needs time to heal. You watch. I'll be kickin' ass with this leg in no time."

"Bobby…," Frankie muttered, ignoring his optimistic rant. "I… I'm so sorry. If I…," she stopped to sigh and rub her forehead. "If I had gotten there sooner…"

"Shut yer trap," he spat in his usual brusque way. Frankie peeked around her fingers at his sneer. "You think this was _yer_ fault? I thought you were smart. This ain't anyone's fault but th' demon's."

"Exactly! I wasn't there to stop it!"

Bobby rolled his eyes at the frazzled girl. "And what would you've done if you were there? Chop at me with yer machete?"

Frankie's muscles tensed up. With a sigh, she relaxed back into her bed. "Oh… so you know then."

"I know," he nodded.

"Dean told you?"

"Mmhm."

"Bobby, I'm sorry. I swear I was gunna tell y'all. I just-"

"Kid." Frankie shut her mouth the moment he opened his. "Yes, you shoulda told us. Yes, it woulda helped us a ton with those demons killin' people outside of town. It's done. Stop apologizin' fer it. Alright?"

The girl pressed her lips together, puffing air out of her nostrils. "No. I screwed up. I have to acknowledge that. I can't keep telling myself that it's alright. 'Cause it's not. It's not alright."

" _Kid_." His sharp tone ceased her weary rambling, leaving her to lay back into her bed. "This ain't no talk to have here. Not right now. We'll sit down and have a discussion back at the house." Frankie swallowed down the urge to say she didn't have until then. Dean's words still buzzed in her head. "So, fer the reason I hobbled down here," he continued, leveling his voice to a much calmer tone, "how you keepin'?"

Frankie quirked her head to the side. "I've, uh… I've been better, to be honest."

"Thought so. Anything I can get ya while I'm still mobile?"

Frankie shook her head with a small smile. "I'm fine. How're you? I've been wondering about you since Sam and Dean left for your room."

"Well," he sighed, "be a helluva lot better if I could move my damn toes, but otherwise I'm solid. Got air in my lungs and sense in my skull, so I'd say I'm good in all the right places."

"At least there's _some_ good news around here."

"Oh, and, uh, the boys wanted me to tell ya they're gunna be off fer a while."

"Off? Where?"

"Colorado. I got a call from an old friend who says there's a town there – River Pass – that's overrun by demons. Sent those two to help seein' as I only have one workin' leg and you can't even leave the room without keelin' over."

Frankie chewed on her cheek for a few moments before adjusting herself in her bed with a huff. "So they're working together again. That such a good idea?"

"Don't matter if it's a good idea. Whether they got problems or not, they know better than to put personal problems before innocent lives in danger. Least I hope they do."

With a minute to cool off, Frankie managed to relax enough to get her head in the right place. Bobby being nearby helped out with that, too. "So," she continued, shoving seriousness into her voice. "The apocalypse, huh?"

"Yep. End of days. Finally here."

"What're we supposed to do now? What's our next move?"

"Soon as I figure that out I'll let you know. Until then I can't tell you much."

"Right," Frankie answered with a nod of her head. Wincing, she sat up on the bed and looked to the table next to her. "I'll start reading. Sam and Dean brought up some lore books so I wouldn't get bored." Groaning under her breath, she leaned over to the side and grabbed a few books with only mild pain. "I'll see what I can find."

"Woah, hold up now. Take it easy. Don't burry yerself in research. That won't do you any good."

"Bobby, it's my kidneys that are impaired. Not my eyes. I can heal _and_ read."

The man leaned forward in his chair with a sigh. "I'm just sayin' you shouldn't strain yerself. Let us worry about Lucifer. We don't want you to get an aneurism or somethin'."

At the moment, the girl hadn't moved her eyes from the books in her lap, but after a moment of silence between the two, she lifted her head to look out the window. "I know I'm injured, Bobby. I know I can't and shouldn't do anything but heal. Heh… it's the first day at your house all over again." She slowly moved her head over in the man's direction and looked miserably into his eyes. "I can't hunt. I can't use my organs. I can't even walk down the damn hallway, for Christ's sake. But there's one thing I _can_ do and that's read these books. So if it's alright with you… I'd really like to do something I can do."

She didn't wait for him to give his answer, but if she had held her gaze for a little longer she would have seen him give a slow nod. Without another word, she delved into whatever she could find on the apocalypse. It wasn't long before Bobby got to his feet. Frankie lifted her eyes to watch him hold himself up with only one crutch. She watched him struggle to walk over to the other side of her bed and pick up a few books for himself. Before heading back to his chair, he sent her tight, short-lived smile. She returned it.

After a while of researching together in silence, a nurse knocked on the door and promptly entered to take Bobby back to his own room. He reluctantly bid Frankie a goodnight before taking a few books with him. The nurse had helped him carry them and gave quite the concerned look when she read a few of the titles.

And then all of a sudden, Frankie was alone. Against her better judgement, her greatest fear scurried into her frontal lobe. She was sick, dying even, and she was alone. She knew good and well what her greatest fear was and that was dying alone, all by herself with no one around her to ease the fear of perishing. What if she died while Sam and Dean were in Colorado? What if she died while Bobby was in his room? What if she died in her sleep, never seeing her death coming? She would never see her brothers or Bobby again. That thought terrified her almost as much.

She swallowed a large lump in her throat. She refused to think that way. That was what Dean ordered her to not dwell on. Though she couldn't help such a rational fear, she was determined to dig herself a deep hole and fill it only with research. It was her one and only coping mechanism in her time of grief.

* * *

Frankie felt restless. After days upon days of working out and training, suddenly doing nothing felt so repulsive. Her muscles ached to be stretched and strengthened, but any movement whatsoever caused her back and abdomen to cry out in pain. She was getting so very tired of doing nothing, but she at least had a new routine to keep to. She did always love routines.

Frankie fell into a dull cycle in her drab hospital room. When the day begins, she wakes up, eats breakfast, is put on dialysis, is questioned and updated by emotionless doctors and nurses, reads up on the apocalypse, eats lunch, is visited by Bobby, reads more, eats dinner, read more, then goes to sleep only to repeat it the next day. After a while, her brain turned into mush. The constant medicine hindered her appetite and the questions gave her a headache. The dialysis was uncomfortable and so were the people who filtered into her room. It was a horrible routine, but a routine nonetheless.

Her readings were interesting enough. She read about what Lucifer's intentions were and that filled her mind with very vivid images. Needless to say she'll be glad to not have to live through any of that. Among her other readings, she read about the four horsemen. They seemed to come up often. And she couldn't help but wonder what they would look like. Their depictions in literature gave her a good idea, but the transition to reality seemed muddled. Perhaps that was simply her mind decaying from an endless loop of medicine and disgusting hospital food.

A knock at the door tore her eyes from a particularly gruesome illustration of Death on a battlefield. She snapped her head over to the room's entrance just as a nurse walked in. Her mood instantly dropped.

"Hi, Frankie. How are we felling today?"

"Horrible as usual," she sighed.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Frankie rolled her eyes at the utter fakeness of her voice. "I'll see if I can get a doctor in here to fix that."

"Whoopee…"

"Also, I came in here to tell you that your family is here to see you. They're coming up right now."

Frankie's mood instantly rose again. Finally some good news. "Thank you," she barely muttered before the nurse was gone. She was suddenly filled with excitement and relief. After days of hearing nothing from her brothers, she was finally going to be reunited with them. It was a good thing, too. She gathered up quite a bit of information with Bobby. It was about time they discussed a game plan.

Frankie decided to straighten up her room a bit. It was littered with stray books and empty cups and bowls. It didn't take her long to catch her reflection in the TV screen on the other end of the room. She grimaced at her ratty hair and tried to something about it, but the only thing she could do was put it in a ponytail. She settled with that look since she had no other options.

A knock came from the door and it once again opened. Frankie turned her head to the entrance with a bright smile, glad to finally see her brothers.

But it wasn't her brothers that she saw standing in her room.

"Hi, Frankie. It's been too long."

She couldn't tell if she as breathing. How could she when her _family_ family was standing right in front of her. Her aunt, uncle, and two cousins crowded in her room wearing the fakest smiles she had ever seen.

"What are you doing here," she heard herself say. She couldn't even control her own vocal chords in their presence.

Her aunt stepped forward. "We got a call from this hospital saying your kidneys took a turn for the worst and took the soonest flight we could." Frankie reacted like a threatened cat and scooted as far away from her aunt as she could in her bed.

"I'm surprised you even picked up the phone," she spat out on impulse.

"Well, that's not the attitude we were hoping for," the older woman sighed, linking her hands in front of her.

"Yeah I bet it wasn't. Why did you even make the trip? Don't you have your secluded, oh-so important life in Italy that you cherish so much?"

"Honestly, Frankie, do you think so little of us that you assume we won't come to see you when you get sick?" her uncle asked. Frankie deepened her already furrowed brows into a more intense scowl. "We're family."

"Since when?" she spat with vigor. They ignored her remark, treating it as if she had simply sighed instead.

"I do have to ask," her uncle continued, "why are you in Maryland? Aren't you still living in Alabama?"

Frankie would have pointed out that she left her home in pursuit of a better life, but she didn't want to risk them delving into her personal life. That would ultimately lead to mentioning Sam and Dean and she'd be damned if she dragged them in this mess. "I was out on business when I got sick. Simple as that."

"What kind of business could you possibly have out here?" her older cousin asked. He was the more obnoxious one and Frankie's repulsed reaction to his words made it known.

"My own, that's what," she bit back.

"What have you been reading?" her younger cousin asked. She snapped her head over to his prying fingers picking up and messing up her organized system. "Are these your weird monster books you always have lying around?"

Frankie leaned forward and snatched the books out of his hands, shoving down the pain she got from it. " _No_ , and keep your hands _off_!"

"Ew!" he exclaimed once she had placed her books back where they belongs. She flicked her eyes back up to his disgusted face. "What happened to your ear?"

She sucked in a gasp, clutching a hand over her mangled lobe. Her eyes filled with fire as she pointed them at the snotty child. "G-Get out! Now!"

"Really, Frankie. There's no need to be so hostile," her aunt griped. "After all, we flew all the way over here to help and comfort you."

Frankie snapped her head over to the woman, her neck nearly cracking with how fast and violently it twisted. She had to take a moment to collect her growing anger before she even dared to speak. "Help… and comfort? You're here to help and comfort?" Biting the inside of her cheek, she nodded and sat up straight, looking the woman dead in the eye. "Okay. Where were you when my mom needed help and comfort? Hm? Did you not get the memo when she needed help and comfort? Were you too busy to take the soonest flight to the states then?" Her aunt and uncle lowered their heads at the mention of her mother. It only made Frankie angrier. "Get out. I don't wanna even look at you."

"Frankie, if you would just-"

"I said I want you _out_!"

The only sound in the room was the heart monitor at her side and the noises of nurses and doctors in the hall, though even that was quieter after her outburst. "Okay, hun," her aunt sighed, ushering her children out of the room. "We'll catch a bite in the café. We'll come back up when you've cooled off."

"We'll see," she growled at their retreating forms. She was glad they were leaving, but more than upset that they were staying nearby. She crossed her arms as the door opened. Her head throbbed in a horrendous headache.

"Oh… I'm sorry. We didn't realize she had company."

Her eyes snapped opened. Finally, a familiar voice entered her ears. She lifted her head to see Sam and Dean just outside her room, staring at her other family about to leave. "Oh no, it's fine. We were just leaving."

"Who are you guys?" her pestering nuisance of a cousin asked.

And that's when Frankie began to get worried. She didn't want her family to know about her brothers. That would cause more trouble than she needed, but they were well on top of it.

"We're close friends of Frankie," Dean said as if he had rehearsed it. "We've been looking after her while she's been laid up."

"Oh, that's nice. We're her family. I'm Jacklyn, this is her uncle Lyle, and her cousins-"

"Patten."

"Miles."

Frankie rolled her eyes at her cousins. Of course they would prefer to introduce themselves like that. They were always so pretentious. Frankie wanted to burry herself six feet under from embarrassment.

"Uh… well I'm Sam. This is my brother, Dean."

"It's nice to meet you two," her uncle said while holding out his hand to shake both of their hands. "We came here as soon as we heard she was sick. We hate that this had to happen so suddenly."

"Yeah. Us, too," Dean muttered.

"You were leaving!" Frankie shouted from behind them.

"Oh boy. Well, it was wonderful seeing you, dear. We'll be back later," her aunt announced before leading her family out of the room, shutting her door behind them.

"God… _dammit_ , I hate them."

The men stepped further into the room. As he walked closer, Dean looked over his shoulder at the door. "Really? They seem pretty nice."

"Yeah, that's because you don't _know_ them. They're horrible people."

"Doesn't everybody say that about their family?" Sam asked, sitting himself down in the same chair he sat in before.

"Well, it's true. They only care about themselves."

Dean blinked down at her before putting his hands in his jacket pocket. "Is that why they flew all the way from Spain just to see you?"

"Italy," Frankie corrected with a roll of her eyes. "And I don't know why they came all the way over here, but it's not because they really care about me. I know that for sure."

As Frankie brooded, she noticed Dean lifting a hand and rubbing his neck. He had a contemplative look on his face as he scratched the stubble on his chin. "Look… I don't really know why you hate them so much… but isn't them being here kind of proof that they care just a little?"

Frankie slowly lifted her eyes up to his, her brows shadowing them as they narrowed in confusion. "No. Look, I've got my reasons for not liking them and they're justified. I don't care that they made an exception for me. I just want them gone."

"Alright, alright. It was just a thought." Dean looked down at how frazzled and upset the girl was over seeing her family. He knew she didn't like them, though he didn't know the reason. But to him they seemed like nice enough people. And more importantly they're her _family_. They could possibly be donors. It was a good- no, great thing that they showed up, even if Frankie didn't see it that way.

"I'm just glad y'all are okay. I've been worried about the two of you."

Dean cracked a half smile to wipe the thoughtful look from his face. "Ah, it was no sweat. I mean Sam was tortured by friends of ours disguised as demons and I was hunted down by a bunch of Bible beaters. Nothing we couldn't handle." He was relieved to see a smile spread on her face.

"Okay, that sounds like something I had to see to believe."

"Trust me. It was as crazy as it sounds," Sam noted from the other side of the room.

Dean was even more relieved to hear a small bit of laughter come from the girl. He was worried he wouldn't hear it after all the crap she was put through. It got a smile out of him. "Ah, I wish I could've been there with y'all." And then his smile fell.

"Uh… yeah. Anyway-," he was halted by the delayed realization of books surrounding her bed. "Have you been researching?"

"It's like the only thing I've been doing," she scoffed.

"Well… have you read anything about the four horsemen?" Sam asked. The girl made an amused noise as she grabbed her sunrise notebook from the table by her bed.

"Only about five pages worth of stuff. Why? Did you guys run into the horsemen or something?" She meant it as a joke, but the look on their faces answered her question for her. "Wait, seriously?"

"Here," Dean said as he revealed a small ring from his pocket. She took and inspected the gold ring closely. "Behold. War's ring."

She darted her eyes back up to his. "War? You faced War?"

"Yeah."

"An-And you're alive?"

"Last I checked."

"… Well alright. I guess I'll hit the books and find out anything else. But Bobby's probably further than I am. I haven't checked with him today."

"Alright. I'll get on that. You and Sam go over what you can and I'll check with Bobby."

"Okay. Got it."

At that, Dean took his leave – and the ring – and left Sam and Frankie alone in the room. Sam looked over the notes Frankie made in her journal as she hit the books to look specifically for the horsemen. In no time, the sounds of pages turning and the occasional clambering from the hallway were the only thing in the air.

Despite the odd serene atmosphere of the quiet room, Sam found himself restless in his chair. He couldn't focus on his research. While Frankie went through pages and pages in her books, he kept reading the same paragraph over and over again.

Sam was troubled. He had a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach and watching Frankie burden herself with so much research worsened that feeling. He had yet to tell her the truth about the apocalypse. Dean knew. Bobby knew. She was the only one left in the dark. While he liked it that way, he knew the news would not be responded to well if it didn't come from him.

He had to tell her, but the only thing was that he didn't know how to even start. How do you tell someone that you destroyed the world? He didn't know, but he had to start somewhere. Now was the best time to do it. She wasn't sulking and depressed. It would only be a matter of time before she resorted to that state again, so he just had to jump right into it.

"Um…," he started, but nothing came afterwards. Suddenly he decided to wait and hoped she didn't hear him.

"Hm?" she hummed, lifting her head. Sam internally winced. "You say something?"

Well, he might as well go through with it. It was not going to be pretty. "Uh… yeah, I, uh… I just wanted to say…," he shifted in his seat before locking eyes with the girl. She looked so small and weak on the large bed. He puffed out a long sigh in defeat. "I'm sorry. Frist of all. Y'know, for how I treated you last time we… we met." He averted his eyes, not thinking he could go through with it if he looked at her innocent expression. "I wasn't myself back then. The demon blood… it changed me. I wasn't myself. I mean, I had some control and I knew what I was doing, but I would never… to you- to _anyone_ -"

"It's okay, Sam." He refused to lift his eyes up. "I mean… I can't say I agree with the choices you made… and I'm still pretty peeved about it, but… I get why you did it. You just wanted to defeat Lilith in your own way." There was a pull at his heart. "It's not your fault that you failed to kill her. I mean, if you had just teamed up with us instead of a demon we probably coulda killed her together, but… what's done is done. We just hafta deal with the aftermath."

"Yeah… about that… um…"

"Uh, what?"

"I… I just… Frankie, I killed Lilith."

Silence. "Wait, what?"

"I killed her. Using my demon powers. I used up all of them on her and she died."

"So… it's not the apocalypse? Lucifer's not free?"

The small hint of hope that lined her voice made things a hell of a lot harder for him. "No," he sighed, "he was freed. You see, Lilith wasn't going to break the last seal. Lilith _was_ the last seal." He waited for her reaction, desperately hoping that she would say something. It was a while before she did.

"What are you saying… exactly?"

Sam finally lifted his head to look Frankie dead in the eye. "It's my fault. I started the apocalypse."

Sam wasn't sure how much time had passed. He didn't really care. But he wasn't sure just how much he could keep holding eye contact with the girl. It was incredibly hard. She just sat still as a statue, not even blinking as she processed his words.

The moment finally came when she moved. She just lowered her head to her lap, eye contact broken. Although Sam wasn't sure if things were better now.

"I'd like you to go, please."

Her voice was almost mechanic, which made things seem ever more surreal. Nonetheless, Sam complied with her request and set her journal in the chair next to him. He walked out of the room without another word.

* * *

"You wanna what?!"

"Look, I told you to hear me out."

"No!"

Dean tightened his lips to finish his glare. He knew Bobby wouldn't take his suggestion too well. He had become too attached to Frankie. He knew that before he even opened his mouth.

"She been workin' too hard fer you to just toss her aside!"

"I'm not tossing her aside. This is gunna help her."

"You know she hates those people, right? You'd just be makin' her suffer even more."

"Sure. Maybe if they were actually bad people, which they're not."

"And you've spent well enough time with them to make that judgement?"

"Well… the uncle shook my hand. What does that tell you?"

"Dean. What's this really about?" The man stared deep into Dean's soul, knowing all too well that there was something else going on. He wouldn't just say that he wanted the girl to go to Italy with her family for no reason.

"I told you. I just think she'll be better off. I mean, what has hanging with us gotten her? One dead kidney and one dying. If she goes back with her family then she'll be safe."

"She killed demons, Dean. Nowhere she goes will be safe." The younger man paced idly around the room. Bobby watched as he went from one side of the room to the other. "Dean. Why do you really want her to go with them?" When he whipped around to spit the same nonsense, Bobby hushed him with his glower. "Don't lie to me, boy."

Dean felt defeat wash over him. There was no getting by him. He would have to reveal the truth. "It's my fault she was in that storage unit. It's my fault Zachariah hurt her. I can't let her get hurt because of us again."

"That's not in yer control. It's in hers."

"And that's what I'm worried about. She doesn't know what's good for her. She only knows what she wants. She _wants_ to be a hunter. She _wants_ to be a Winchester. But it's gunna end up killing her! And you can't tell her that or else she'll get defensive and prove that she's worth something." He stopped pacing and crossed his arms over his chest. "I dunno, Bobby. It's just… if she stays with us she'll get herself killed."

"Well… I think yer missin' the point that she'll probably die sooner than that."

Dean snapped his head over to the older man, not believing the cynical words just came from his mouth. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"If she don't get a kidney soon, she'll be out of our lives quicker. Is that how you want her to go?"

"Of course not."

"Then _that's_ the issue you need to be worryin' about. Not whether or not she should go with some people we've never properly met before. What if they really are horrible people? Can you live with _that_ on yer conscience?"

"Alright, alright. I get it. Get a kidney first."

"Good boy."

"But I stand by my point, Bobby. I don't want her to end up in a hospital again. Or worse. She's not gunna die because we weren't careful."

Bobby's brows furrowed over his eyes as he glared at Dean. "Then be careful." The younger man held his glower on the outside, but on the inside there was a storm of differing emotions. "Now get outta here. Find a kidney. If this really is your mistake, then _fix_ it."


	21. Chapter 20 - Miracle

**A/N: Here's a nice, long chapter to welcome you guys into the new year. That's the good news. However, the more unsavory news is that this story will go on a short hiatus, but return the week after next. I wish you all a Happy New Year and thank you for making this half year a great one for me and this story. I couldn't have made it this far without y'all. Thank you!**

* * *

He sat in the plastic chair in the middle of the moderately busy hallway, his head in his hands and his fingers in his hair. Sam was in a rut. A big one. He was to blame for setting the playing field for the end of the world, but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was how his family saw him.

Dean was an obvious blow. He had disappointed him far too many times before and this was the icing on top of the cake. He couldn't stand the way he looked at him whenever he did… well, _anything_. He takes one look at a bleeding patient and it sets off all sorts of alarms. He would stare at him in the corner of his eye, making it more than known that he didn't trust him. And why would he? Sam had screwed up before, but this took it too far.

Bobby was a big relief. He said that he would never shut him out, even after all he did, but he knew better. He saw the way Bobby looked at him. He was just as disappointed in him as Dean was. He couldn't bear the look in his eyes of a man he saw as a surrogate father.

And Frankie. God, did he screw up with her. She wasn't even in his life for a month and he already showed her how untrustworthy he could be. Not only did she have to witness him hyped up on demon blood, but she also had to learn that the apocalypse – something she had feared and panicked over since she heard about it – was happening because he refused to listen to his family.

And not just that, but she was also put into the hospital because of apocalypse matters. If Lucifer hadn't been set free, the angels wouldn't have been looking for Dean and Frankie wouldn't have gotten hurt. By proxy, he was to blame for her kidneys. It was his fault that she was in the hospital, not Dean's. But he couldn't convince him of that. In reality, it was both of their faults, but one couldn't convince Sam that, either. In his eyes, everything was his fault. Apocalypse and kidneys. He caused it all, so he had to fix what he could. And that was exactly what he would do.

Mind made up, he lifted himself from the chair and made a beeline for the lab.

* * *

He had to fix this. This was his fault and no one could convince him otherwise. Dean thought this as he aimlessly wandered the halls and floors of the hospital.

His visit with Bobby was still fresh on his mind. He stood by his opinion. He knew what was best for Frankie and that was for her to go to Italy – not Alabama – with her family. It was simple. She would be with those she was familiar with, she wouldn't be alone, and, best of all, she wouldn't be anywhere near him or Sam.

Of course Bobby hated the idea. She had rubbed off on him. That and he would also miss having his house clean. Although it was more than obvious that she had brought a certain optimistic air about the house, whether it was from her jokes or her willingness to help no matter what. Dean had to admit that he would miss that about her being with them, but he wanted her safe more than anything.

It wasn't like Dean didn't acknowledge Bobby's warning. He was right. Frankie killed demons and that would have her higher on their list. And she would be placed especially higher since she was related to them. But if she was far enough away, maybe they would leave her alone.

Now _that_ was optimistic thinking.

But he couldn't think about that now. He was on another mission, one to find her a kidney. His trip down the terminal ward was less than helpful, but he expected it to be anyway. She didn't need another sick organ. It had to be healthy, and preferably from someone she knew. He and Sam would be the closest possible bet to a successful kidney, but he knew he couldn't. It would put a whole bunch of people in danger, even if just to save one person.

So he had to go to the next possibility for donors, and luckily for him they were right where he thought they'd be. He walked into the large cafeteria and spotted the four of them sitting at a table and chowing down, the kids occupying themselves with their phones.

He made his way over. He didn't have any idea what he'd say to them or how he'd convince them to test for matches, but hey, he was Dean Winchester. He had done the impossible before.

They caught sight of him before he approached. "Oh hi! Dan right?" the aunt, Jacklyn, greeted. She straightened out her fraying blond hair and brushed stray strands out of her eyes.

"Dean," he corrected with a nod of his head.

"Nice to see you again," her husband said while extending his hand once again. Dean put on a nice smile while shaking his hand. See? These people weren't horrible. "What brings you down?"

"I was, uh… actually hoping to run into you," he explained, setting himself down across from the family. The kids had barely looked up before going right back to their electronics. "I just came back from seeing Frankie."

"Mm," Jacklyn hummed, putting on a sympathetic expression. "How is she? We'd check ourselves, but she refuses to see us." The woman chuckled while wearing a face that said 'you know how it is.'

"Yeah. She's, uh… she's doing better. Least I think she is. She's a lot better than the last time I saw her."

"Well, that's good. Wouldn't want her to be in too much pain." The woman grabbed ahold of her husband's hand and tucked her fingers into his. "Thank you for letting us know. Lord knows she won't tell us anything."

Dean looked down to his own fingers linked together on the table. He really shouldn't, seeing as it wasn't his business, but now was his chance to finally find out what her whole feud with them was. His curiosity ended up getting the best of him. "If you don't mind me asking, what's her deal? What's this whole beef she's got with you?"

He didn't miss the twinkle of sadness in their eyes. "Well… that goes back a ways. She's never really taken too kindly to us, not even Lyle, but… she didn't have such a severe loathing for us until recently."

"Why's that?" he pressed on. He knew he shouldn't really urge them to reveal such personal matters, but he was too invested in the dispute to ignore it.

"Well… it really has to do with her mother."

"Her mother?" Dean echoed.

"Yes. When her mother got sick… well she _really_ got sick. Lyle's sister, poor Sierra, developed so quickly. She wasn't hanging on like Frankie is. She didn't have the strength." Dean silently praised the girl for her resilience. He'd have to remember to praise her aloud. "And that girl… she felt in her heart that we should've been there for Sierra. But we just had so much going on at home… it wouldn't have done any good to push our family out of our home for that. Sierra passed not two weeks later."

"Wait… so…," Dean eyed the uncle, "your sister was dying… and you didn't even make the trip to see her and her only daughter before she died?" The man tightened his lips into a frown. "Don't you think it would've done just a little good? I mean you just left Frankie there to watch her mom die all alone. She didn't have anyone. No siblings, no dad… she needed her family."

"We understand that, Dean," the uncle piped up, "but you have to realize that we knew that day was coming. We prepared ourselves for the day Sierra would pass and so did she. The only one who was really unprepared for it was Frankie."

Jacklyn nodded while humming in agreement. "She wouldn't accept the fact that her mother was deathly ill. Oh how she tried to give her own kidney to her, but Sierra wouldn't allow it. Not that it would do much good. She had the disease as well."

"She tried everything, calling everyone she knew to test for compatibility," Lyle continued. "Even Sierra tried to get her to see reason. Poor girl… she just wouldn't let her go." Dean could see that. She didn't like to give up or let anything go. She fought for what she wanted and wouldn't let anything stop her.

"But," Jacklyn continued with a sigh, "her mother did pass, and she didn't take it well. She refused to have anything to do with us. She isolated herself into their house and didn't come out for days. Weeks, I assume. Last I had heard of her, a friend of mine back in Alabama saw her getting on a bus with a bag. I'm guessing she was heading off on that business she was talking about." Dean nodded, understanding exactly what she was talking about.

"So," Dean spoke, getting back onto the subject. "If you didn't come to the states for her mom, why'd you come for her?"

"Well, we weren't exactly panning on her getting sick so early, but when we got the call, we thought it best to come down here and take care of her things for her." Dean nodded in understanding before realizing that he didn't actually understand.

"Her things?"

"Y'know," Lyle answered, "her finances, her assets, all the paperwork for her passing." Dean's body froze, his eyes turning stony. "Someone has to take care of them. We're the last people she really, y'know, knew. Except you and your brother, of course."

"Wait, wait, hold up," Dean interjected, waving his hands as he sat up straight. The two kids finally looked up from their screens. "What are you saying? You flew all the way out here just to take her money?"

Lyle and Jacklyn's eyes widened, their mouths agape at the accusation. "Of course not! How awful!" Lyle placed another hand on top of his wife's to calm her.

"I think you misunderstood us," he said quietly, trying to divert from the unwanted attention of the neighboring tables. "We're not here to take her things like it's some sort of inheritance. Who do you think the money goes to when she passes? We're the last of her family."

' _That's where you're wrong, Fatso,'_ he wanted to retort, but he held that part of his tongue.

"We don't enjoy this," Jacklyn explained once she calmed down from the initial shock. "We're more than comfortable with our finances, but the money has to go somewhere."

"Why not just leave it with her?" Dean suggested, his voice sinking back into his normal gruff manner. As expected, he was met with confused faces. "She's not dead yet. She still has a chance of survival. _That's_ what you need to be taking care of. Not her stuff _if_ she dies." He calmed himself just enough to lean back into his chair. "That's actually why I came to talk to you."

His brows narrowed as he watched Jacklyn and Lyle share a look with each other. A sigh left each of their noses before Jacklyn looked at her children. "Boys. Go get me a Coke." The two boys responded with harmonized huffs and identical rolls of their eyes before scooching out of their chairs and walking off out of the cafeteria.

Dean returned his eyes to look between the couple in front of him, waiting for some sort of explanation to why the kids were told to leave. "Dean…," Lyle started, letting go of his wife's hand to link together his own. "The moment Frankie was born we knew this day would come. PKD is a genetic disease. Her great grandmother had it, my mother had it, and Sierra had it. Each of them died of the same thing: kidney failure. Frankie's no exception."

"Yeah, but they didn't have a transplant," Dean pointed out.

"That hasn't changed, hun," Jacklyn drawled, looking Dean in the eye with that same sad twinkle.

"Well not yet. We just have to find someone who's a match. Which is why I came down to check with you two. You're her family. You might be matches."

Lyle shook his head, sighing down to his hands before locking eyes with the younger man. "I was adopted." Dean wasn't even sure what expression his face was making, but by the look on the man in front of him it wasn't positive. Lyle nodded his head. "My mother had Sierra, but didn't want another child to carry her disease. Then came me."

"And that just bugs me," Jacklyn grumbled, hands forming into fists.

"Honey, don't," her husband sighed before Dean spoke up.

"What?"

"Sierra. And her mother. I just don't understand. They were family and I loved them, but if you have a disease you _know_ is hereditary, why have children to pass it down to?"

" _Jackie_. Not now."

"What, are you saying Frankie's mom should've…," Dean left what needed to be said unheard, knowing that they would get his exact point. Just the thought of the answer being yes sent pulses of anger into his brain.

"Now, I know it's terrible to think about," the woman began. Dean's fingernails just barely scratched into the table. "But what's really more horrible? Having… _that_ happen to your unborn child, or having that child grow up only to end up in this place?"

Dean didn't want to have that conversation lest he color his fist with blood from the woman's nose. "She doesn't have to die," he muttered, keeping his anger at bay, but just barely. "You don't have to be blood. You just have to have the right blood type, right?"

"And tissue typing and cross-matching," Lyle added as if he had said it a million times. Dean switched his gaze to him. "We've already been tested. I'm not a match for Frankie." Dean's heart sank in his chest. "But Jackie is." And then it perked back into place.

"You are?" he said, urgent hope flooding his vocal chords. "Well why are you just sitting here? Go carve out your kidney and give it to her! We're kinda on a time crunch here!"

There was that look again. That shared look between Lyle and Jacklyn that meant something was up. "Dean," Jacklyn muttered, voice sounding almost negotiating. "I love Frankie. I do. But I love my sons more." Dean felt the glare form on his face. "What if they were to get in an accident? Or ate something that made them very sick? What if some random happenstance damaged one of their kidneys? Lyle isn't the healthiest man alive, and I would be the only one to donate. I only have two kidneys, dear."

Dean slowly shook his head, not believing what he was hearing. "So that's it. You're just gunna let Frankie die because you're worried one of your kids _might_ get sick? She's sick now! Help _her_! She's your family!"

"And I love her, and wish another donor will come for her, but that donor won't be me." The man threatened to give an outburst fit for a king before the woman reached across the table to touch his hand. He pulled away. "Dean, listen to me. You need to understand that we've gone over this situation a million times, ever since Frankie was just five years old. I know how much she needs a kidney, but what happens in ten years? _More_ cysts form? Her kidneys shut down _again_? Then where will she get another donor? Don't you see? She was born to die this way."

"No. No she wasn't."

"Dean." The man flicked his eyes to glare into her own. She sent him a tight-lipped smile, forcing sympathy into it. "There's nothing to be done. Okay? There's nothing we can do. If Frankie dies, it'll save her years of suffering." Dean tightened his jaw. "Even you know that to be true."

"We're not monsters," Lyle cut in. "We wish she didn't have this disease, but she does. And if she makes it through this and has a child of her own, that child will have the disease, too. And then the story repeats itself. We didn't help Sierra because we knew she would get sick anyway. We're not helping Frankie because we knew this day would come. If she were to have kids, we wouldn't help them. There's nothing to help. But if Frankie dies with her family and friends surrounding her, she'll die happy. Then we can finally end this legacy of suffering. Do you understand, son?"

"No." Dean stood up, his chair screeching away from the table. A few bystanders at neighboring tables glanced over. "And don't call me ' _son_ ' like we're pals. I made a promise and I'll _keep_ that promise. Even without your help. You keep your selfish ways away from Frankie, and we'll hold on the bad blood, got it?" With a final glare, Dean kicked his chair onto its back and started walking away.

"Dean," Jacklyn called to him, causing him to stop and pivot back to her, intense scowl pointed her way. "We've prepared for this day since she was born. _We_ know what's best for her. Who are you to her?"

Dean didn't hold back from deepening his glower. "The last bit of family she's got." Without another word, he turned his back and left the cafeteria.

* * *

Frankie closed yet another book and placed it with the others. She reached over to the bedside table and took a bite out of a bread roll. She reached for another book and opened it, looking for any signs or mentions of the four horsemen. She repeated this action every time she didn't find anything new or useful.

She continued this routine for hours, never letting up. If she did, she would be forced to think and listen to her thoughts, which she absolutely did not want to do. She knew exactly what her mind would go to first and, honestly, she just wanted to forget it ever happened. She wanted to pretend like Sam never opened his mouth and simply ran off to get a bite to eat. She wanted to pretend like her own brother didn't start what was causing her small panic attacks and night terrors.

So to keep herself from not thinking about it, she forced herself to study. She forced her eyes to scan every line of every page, repeating words even if she read them a hundred times already. Anything to keep from thinking of Sam.

But there was a time when her head began to ache where she had to tear her eyes away from the pages of old text. Since she knew what her mind would go to first, she tried to beat it to the punch and think of something else.

Bobby's leg? No. Her family showing up? Hell no. Her impending death? She already fretted about that too much that day. So what else was there in her life to think about?

The only thing in her life that brought her smiles instead of heart palpitations was Dean. He was the only thing that made sense in her shortening world. He refused to give up on her and ordered her not to give up on herself. He promised that he would do whatever it took to make her well again. He cared about her. He actually cared about her.

She was so glad to have Dean in her life. He would never let her down. He would never give up on her. And for that she was more than grateful. If there was a reason to fight for life, Dean was it.

Frankie looked around at her domain. Her room was boring. The isolation was boring. The infomercials on the TV were boring. And what was worse was that she was out of water and was thirsty as hell.

But this time, Frankie had enough of it. Her kidneys may be damaged, but she didn't need to be bedridden. There was no need for it. And if she had to wait for Nurse Cindy, she who could do no wrong, for longer than half an hour _again_ she would explode. She had two working legs. She could walk. And she would use a goddamn water fountain if it killed her.

Sitting up caused some pain, but she had gotten a little used to it in the past few days. Taking a deep breath, expecting the pain to come, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and hopped onto the floor. There was an instant heave in her stomach from the new aching, but Frankie ignored it as best as she could.

There. She was bipedal. Then off she went, walking out of her room and down the hall, trying her best to mask the slight hobble in her step.

Frankie managed to avoid getting called out by passing nurses and doctors. Luckily for her, none of them worked with her before, so they didn't know that she should stay in bed. She passed a corner, eyeing the fountain just down the hall.

"Oh, yer no better than she is. I tell ya it's nothin'."

Frankie stopped. That was definitely Bobby's voice. Looking behind at the cracked door she just passed, she realized that must be his room. She found a smile. She momentarily forgot her dry tongue and turned around to give him a visit.

"That's not what the doctor's say. Maybe you should listen to them on this one."

Frankie froze, nearly falling with how fast she stilled her feet. She caught herself on the wall, not feeling up to the agony falling would cause her. That was definitely Sam's voice. He must be giving Bobby a visit. Frankie definitely did not want to be in the same room as him. She couldn't bear to look at him. She knew it wouldn't be her brother that she'd be seeing. She'd just see the man that started the end.

"Why don't you tell 'em to shove their diagnosis up their ass? I know my own damn body. It's just numb. It'll come back around."

"And when will that be?"

"Well I don't know! A few days? Weeks, maybe. But I'll get rid of these crutches in no time. And when I do I'll _burn_ 'em."

"I don't know, Bobby."

"Well it's not yer job to know. You leave that to me."

Frankie found herself listening in to their conversation. She really should stop her eavesdropping behavior, but since she couldn't visit Bobby on her own, she thought this was almost close to that.

"Anyway," Bobby continued, "the kid find anything on the horsemen?"

Frankie picked up on Sam's hesitation. "Yeah. A few things. She wrote them down. I'll see if I can get her notes and bring them to you." She began to think he was about to walk out of the room and she panicked, but he was stopped before he could.

"I'll look at it myself when I see her. I haven't done it yet today. She's probably bored outta her mind in there." Bobby always was very smart. "Poor kid," he sighed. "Can't imagine what's goin' through her head."

' _A lot, Bobby. A lot,'_ she thought.

"Any progress in findin' her a kidney?"

"Uh, not yet. I may be onto something, though."

Frankie's brow rose at Sam's words. Well at least he was doing something to help instead of destroy.

"Good. What about Dean?"

"What about him?"

"Have y'all not been workin' together?"

"Uh… no. I mean, we should, but… I haven't seen him in a while."

"Well I have." Frankie heard him grunt as he adjusted in a chair. At least she thought it was a chair. It sounded like one. "He was in here ravin' about her family showin' up."

"Yeah. We met them a while back. They seemed nice enough."

"They are _not_ nice enough. Least that's what the kid'll tell ya. She can't stand 'em."

"Why?"

"She won't say. Just does I guess. Which makes it even more idiotic why Dean wants her to go with 'em."

Frankie felt her heart skip a beat. What the hell did he just say?

"Wait a minute… _what_ does he want?"

"Guess you don't know then. Might as well know now." Frankie stumbled closer to the cracked door to listen better. This she _had_ to hear. "Dean thinks she'd be better off in Italy with 'em. After he finds a kidney, he wants her to leave with 'em so she'd be safer. I say that's stupid as hell and she'd never agree to it, but he's dead set on it."

The words that came out of Sam's mouth were numb to her. As were the sounds of the bustling hallway. As she replayed Bobby's words in her head, she found that she couldn't feel the wall under her hand or the floor under her bare feet. After playing them over and over again, Frankie couldn't even feel the pain in her stomach from running down the hallway.

The world around her was a blur. Her ears took up a deafening pounding, blocking the voices of worried nurses. She didn't stop. She couldn't stop. Not until she reached her room. She ran in and slammed the door, only stopping her frantic movement to catch herself against her bed.

She stood, hyperventilating as she held herself up against the mattress. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't. Not Dean. Not the one person she could rely on. Not her friend. Not her teacher. Not her brother.

A weak scream croaked in her throat. Her hands found their own way to her head. The scream came again, this time not so weak. Pain surged in her abdomen when she lowered herself to her knees, but she didn't even register it passed her wailing.

The yells were short lived, her voice taking up a weary sob instead. After Sam, she couldn't imagine losing her image of a loving sibling again, but here she was. There she sat, a girl with two brothers who just loved to wreck her world. There she was, powerless to save that world from crumbling.

She clutched the white bedsheet in her hand. No. She had given up before. Not again. She wouldn't let Dean take this away. She refused to let him ruin their bond like this. She fought too hard to get as close to him as she was. She had to fight, but how could she when she was stuck there?

Dean was dead set on getting her a kidney. And when he did he would send her off with her family. Well, she wouldn't let that happen. But… if he didn't… she'll die. Then where would their relationship be? Nonexistent that's where.

"Would you just look at that? Oh, I could just eat it up!" a voice from the TV chimed. It was some shopping show that Frankie had on before she left. She really wanted to shut that plucky blonde bitch up, but the remote was on the bed. Oh well. She'd ignore it.

She had to think of something and fast. She had to come up with a way to heal herself and live while also making sure that she wouldn't go with her family to Italy. But how could she pull off such a feat before she died?

"This little angel could be the answer to all your problems for any occasion. Birthdays, holidays, funerals, the list is endless. But you'll have to act fast. This offer is limited."

The toughest part was healing herself. She needed a kidney. Dean was already on it, so he might take care of that problem anyway, but then she just had to convince him not to send her off. Maybe she could guilt trip him. Or pretend to know something he didn't. Maybe she could bribe him with her machete… but she really didn't want to do that.

"Trust me, this is just priceless. You _want_ this little token in your life. You can't live without this offer!"

God, this was impossible. She had to stay optimistic… even if it was just a way to give up without knowing it. But she couldn't give up. She refused. But then… how was she going to fix this? What she really needed was a miracle, but those seemed hard to come by these days.

"I gotta say, and I think you all do, too, I am just _sold_ on this Soul Star Angel Statuette by Cross Rose Porcelain. I am just _sold_!"

Then suddenly, an idea came like a voice from above. Although… it really should be coming from below.

"Sold… soul…," she mumbled under her breath. Her brows knitted together as her head lifted from the floor. "Sold… sold soul. Sell… my soul."

The very idea felt like a slap to her face. How could she even think of doing such a thing? Selling her soul? What would Sam, Dean, and Bobby think if she signed her soul away for a solution?

Although… they didn't _have_ to know. She could play it off as some random luck. Kidneys can bounce back. After all, miracles _do_ happen. Just not often. But she had to face the facts. As much as she wanted a miracle, she wouldn't get one. She'd have to make her own. And this one option could be the solution she was looking for.

Frankie didn't have a lot of options. In fact, this was the only one that ended the way she wanted. It was a heavy weight she would have to bear. She'd be lucky if she got ten years for her lousy soul, but the only thing she could think of was what she could do in those ten years. She thought of the life she could have with her brothers and Bobby, with her new family. She thought of the people she could save and the joy she would have doing it. With her healthy, they could probably find a way to stop the apocalypse. This was the only option she had to do that.

Frankie felt deep inside her that it was wrong, but what other choice did she have? She decided that this was the path she needed to take, even if it would only add to her heavy soul. But hey, it would belong to someone else then. Not her problem. She tried to laugh at her own joke, but it only came out as a small huff.

She would wait for the precise moment to escape. She remembered seeing a crossroad nearby. Besides, it was basic economics to have a crossroads near a hospital. She would wait until night after dinner.

* * *

Dean stormed through the hospital. He marched up stairwells, through winding hallways, and around corners until he reached a portion of the building that looked familiar. All the while he dodged nurses, visitors, and doctors until he nearly ran into a familiar face, one he had actually wanted to see.

"Woah! Kill the motor, man," Sam chuckled before registering the serious look in Dean's eye. His jesting mood melted away. "What's wrong?"

"Frankie's family, that's what!"

"Woah, hold on," Sam soothed, putting up his hands as if to calm a spooked animal. "What's wrong with her family?"

"Turns out she was right about 'em. They're a bunch of selfish pricks. They want her to die so they don't have to be _burdened_ with her 'legacy of suffering' anymore. They're just here to make sure she kicks the bucket."

Sam wore a concerned expression as expected, but he calmed himself before attempting to calm his brother. "Okay. Are you sure you heard them right?"

"Loud and clear, man."

"'Cause that sounds more like something in a TV drama than real life."

"I _heard_ them say it. They told me right to my face."

Sam shook his head. "If you say so. Guess this means you changed your mind about Frankie leaving with them."

Dean at first shot Sam a hard glare, wondering how the hell he knew about that, but he knew exactly how he found out. "Dammit, Bobby," he growled. "Does Frankie know?"

"I don't know. I just found out a while ago." Dean closed his eyes as he sighed. The last thing he needed was for her to find out about that. "So," Sam continued with a sigh of his own, "I just got back from the lab."

Dean flicked his eyes up to Sam's. "You got yourself tested?" he asked hurriedly. Sam nodded. "Well… what's the result?" His brother tightened his jaw before crossing his arms and shaking his head, defeat splashed all over his face. Dean forced his own defeated look from his face before replacing it with his former stony expression. "Hey. Chin up. Like you said, the demon blood would've probably hurt her anyway."

"Yeah, well that makes me feel so much better," Sam sarcastically groaned.

"Hey, you said it. Besides, I was actually thinking of getting tested myself."

That got Sam's attention. "What about all that stuff you said about the angels not liking you going into surgery?"

"Well, the way I see it, they can shove it up their feathery asses. Frankie's dying and I don't want her family anywhere near her. If they do I'll knock the tanning spray right off of 'em. So, guess that just leaves me."

"And… what if you're not a match?"

Dean pressed his lips together while cocking his head to the side. "Ever heard of wishful thinking, Sam?" he griped. "Let's just take it one step at a time, alright? Which way's the lab?"

With a tiresome sigh from Sam, he decided to direct Dean there himself. Then off they went to have Dean tested, hoping for one thing to go their way for once.

* * *

Night fell. Dinner was eaten. Then everything was quiet. The hallways were hushed and the announcements weren't as sporadic as they were during the day. The last thing on the check list was for Nurse Cindy to come in a settle her in for the night.

Frankie waited anxiously for her to make an appearance. She glanced around to make sure everything was set. She pulled up the legs of her jeans so that they were unnoticeable under her hospital gown. Not soon after, the raven haired woman walked through the door. "Hi, Frankie. How are we doing tonight?"

The girl forced a smile into her face. "Better."

"Oh, that's wonderful to hear. Y'know, they say a positive attitude is one of the greatest cures."

Frankie kept her smile, but left her tongue still. If she just remained silent, maybe the woman would go away sooner. And true to that hypothesis, the nurse dropped of a new set of sheets, left a pitcher of water on the bedside table, and left with a goodnight to the girl. Finally, Frankie could put her plan into action.

She waited a few extra minutes to ensure that she would be left alone. Once she was sure, she quickly shrugged off her gown to reveal her shirt and jeans that she wore the night of the incident. The collar of her button up shirt still had droplets of blood on it from her nose. She rolled down the legs of her jeans and righted her hair to look somewhat presentable, not like a demon would care anyway.

She carefully lowered herself off of the bed and stepped into her sneakers. She now appeared as a visitor and not a patient. She then went into action, suiting up for her daring night out. She grabbed the roll of gauze bandages from the counter on the side of the room and snatched her machete from her bag by the chairs. Luckily Dean hadn't taken it away from her yet. _Yet_.

Acting quickly, she held her machete to her waist and began rolling the gauze tape around and around until she ran out of one roll and had to use another one. Once it was secured into a decent holster, she began loosely wrapping the tape around her thigh to hold it in place.

Her next mode of action was to find a lock pick, and unfortunately the only place she would find one was in the biohazard bin on the wall. She eyed it, grimacing at the thought of used needles and gloves splashed with fluid. She sucked it up, though. She had to be strong, to be thick-skinned.

She took the bin off of the wall and slowly dumped it onto the floor, waiting for a suitable needle to use. She saw a 22g, a 20g, and an insulin syringe, but those were hardly suitable for picking locks. But finally, an 18g needle plopped onto the floor. A perfect size. Ever so carefully, she plucked it from the ground and dropped it into a gutted latex box.

After tucking her shirt into her jeans, Frankie stored the box into her loose shirt and tried to conceal it as best as she could. Then to conceal the big ticket item – her machete on her thigh – she wrapped her denim jacket around her waist so the blade could not be seen.

Just like in the movies, she tucked the new sheets under the ones already on the mattress and molded them to look like her body. She stepped back and gave the entire scene a onceover. Once she was completely satisfied, she shut off the lights in her room and slipped out carefully and quietly. Her main worry was Sam or Dean coming into her room to check on her, but she assumed with the lights off they would just leave her alone.

She lowered her head as she weaved through the halls and down the stairs, making sure no one who knew her recognized her out and about. She tried her best to mask her hobbling, and it seemed to work as no one stopped her to see if she was okay.

She lifted her head a few minutes into her journey to see the lobby just down the hallway. She felt a sense of relief as she narrowed in on the sliding doors, the windows showing the inky blackness of the night. But just as she entered the lobby, she saw Nurse Cindy. Dammit. She thought she'd be off by now. She acted fast and swiped a hat from the nearby coatrack and shoved it on her head, hiding her face from the nurse. Hats were a dime a dozen. Whoever it belonged to wouldn't miss it, right?

The moment Frankie walked through the automatic doors, a feeling of utter relief washed over her. The cool air of the night acted as a safety blanket over her shoulders. Now it was time for step two: acquiring ingredients.

The Impala wasn't hard to pick out in the parking lot. It stood out among the minivans and sports cars. She hurried over, trying not to jostle her innards too much, and stopped at the back of the car. She took a look around the empty parking lot, making sure there were no eyes to witness her breaking into the vehicle.

As expected, the trunk was locked. No worries, though. Dean taught her how to pick locks. She took the syringe out of the latex box and carefully crouched down to the lock on the back. She worked the latch until a satisfying pop sounded and the trunk opened like a treasure chest.

Smirking widely, Frankie stood up and lifted the false bottom to reveal a treasure trove of weaponry and utensils. She scanned the hodgepodge of tools until she spotted exactly what she was looking for. Right next to a box of fake credit cards and licenses was a container labeled 'graveyard dirt.' She took out the latex box that she had pulled all the gloves out of and sprinkled some of the dirt on top of her old senior portrait from high school. And conveniently enough, next to the container was a carton of black cat bones. The boys were oddly organized.

She dropped what she thought was a femur into the box and sealed it. She now had her very own ticket to summoning a crossroads demon.

Although as she stood there gazing down at her box, she suddenly felt that she shouldn't be doing this. She was _selling_ her _soul_. That was serious. Perhaps there was some other way to fix things, one that didn't involve hellhounds devouring her in ten years.

But she knew better. This was the only way. This was her ticket to the life she tried so hard to build for herself, and the only way to fix what an angel did to her was to have help from a demon.

God, her life was screwed up…

* * *

"So… do you think it was the demon blood or what?"

Sam sent a sideways glance to Dean. He had been silent for an hour and _that_ was the first thing he decided to ask? "I dunno. Could be."

Dean nodded. "Well did you make it to the cross matching, or…"

Sam sighed. He knew he probably wasn't meaning to make it sound that way, but it sure felt like he was rubbing his better success at a possible match in his face. "No. I didn't have the right blood type."

Dean hummed in understanding. He was quiet for just a little bit before opening his mouth yet again. "Think it was 'cause of-"

"I _don't_ _know_ if it was because of the demon blood!" Sam shouted. Dean reacted by leaning away from him with a bemused scowl.

"Okay, okay. Mind sayin' that a little louder?"

"I'm sorry," Sam hissed before flooding all the pestered nerves out with a deep sigh. "I'm sorry," he repeated, much calmer this time. "It's just… I was really hoping that I could've helped her." Dean looked over his brother, examining his disappointment. "Just ignore me. I glad you passed all the tests so far. She's lucky to have you."

That gave Dean a sick feeling in his gut. Lucky to have him? He was the reason she got sick in the first place. "Don't say that yet. I might not pass."

A smile just barely cracked on Sam's face. "You call that wishful thinking?" Dean gave a light snort while nodding. Then Sam's face turned serious. "What happens if you are a match? I mean… are you gunna go through with the surgery?"

Dean shook his head. "Why else would I be testing for a match?"

"Dean. You know what I mean." He did. "Are you gunna risk the angels showing up to stop it? After all, Zachariah did do this to her. He might wanna keep it that way."

"Dammit, Sam. _Wishful thinking_ ," Dean grunted. "What other choice do we have? Do we just let her die?"

"But then we'll risk other people dying just to save her."

"I know. But who's more important here? Them or Frankie?"

" _Dean_ ," Sam scolded, coating his voice with a steely edge. "That's not how we do things. We can't choose one over the other."

"Yeah, and why not?" Dean argued with a stormy voice of his own. Sam shot him a baffled glare. "These people are probably gunna die anyway. Why does Frankie have to be one of 'em?"

"She doesn't!" Sam shouted before quieting himself so bystanders in the hall didn't hear them. "She's on a list. Someone else might come along."

"And if she dies before then? And I swear if you say wishful thinking again-"

"I'm not. Look… I get it. I wanna help her, too." Sam's eyes turned downcast, and Dean didn't miss the change. "I told her about killing Lilith. She knows I freed Lucifer. She wouldn't even look at me. And I don't blame her." Dean glanced down to the floor as Sam heaved a sigh. "I thought if I was a match and saved her life that maybe it was a step in the right direction of forgiveness, but… I'm not. Believe me, I'd do anything to help her, but trading her life for innocents? Do you think she'd want that?"

"The angels might not find out," Dean suggested. "Remember those carvings Cas put on our ribs? We're hidden from the angels. I could go under and give my kidney and they never have to know. Hell, they can just zap me up a new one if they want."

"He didn't carve Frankie, Dean. The angels could swoop in and find us through her."

"Yeah, but if they haven't yet, then when? Hm? They don't care about her. They care about me. I'm who they want. Not her. The only reason she was dragged into this was because of me. You're not the only one who wants forgiveness, Sam."

His brother helplessly looked at him before looking down to the floor as well. "We've both done stupid things, Dean. This is both of our faults. I'm just saying that… maybe you shouldn't make the risk. Frankie wouldn't want innocent people to die just so she could live."

"What do _you_ know about what Frankie would want?" Dean snapped. Sam whipped his head over to his brother, alarmed at the suddenly hostile tone in his words. "How could you possibly know what she wants when you've spent zero time with her? Who do you think's been looking after her? Training her to protect herself from those you chose to spend your time with?" Sam set his jaw and tightened his fists. " _I_ know what she would want. _I_ know her better than you."

"Why are you getting so pissed off at me, Dean? You don't think I know that? I know I've screwed up! I don't need to hear that from you!"

"Yeah, well you are. Don't tell _me_ what you think she wants until you've put up with all her whining and complaining! Don't tell _me_ what you think's on her mind until you listen to every goddamn word of her boring ass visit into the woods just because it'll make her happy! You can't know what she wants, because you _chose_ to spend time with a demon instead of your _own_ _sister_!"

Dean wasn't expecting Sam's expression to change from heated to shocked. He didn't even care at the time, but that surely changed when Sam opened his mouth. "Sister? Not… Dad's kid?"

He should have snapped at him. He should have told him that things had changed since the last time he heard him talk about Frankie. But he didn't say anything, for he was shocked, too, that he referred to her as his sister for the first time since he met her.

"Dean Winchester?" a voice called from the door to the lab. Sam and Dean both looked over to the man in scrubs holding a clipboard in his hands. The two brothers quickly shook off the pestered nerves from their argument before Dean stood up and raised a hand with a tight smile. The nurse walked over to him with a much wider grin. "Congratulations. You're a match."

Despite him having a clear hunch after he passed the other two tests, the news came as a shock to Dean. He couldn't believe that for once something had gone right. And he also couldn't believe his alcohol riddled kidney was a match for the girl. "That's great," he finally breathed out.

"Would you like to inform Miss Pearce or remain anonymous?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer. Only the problem was that he didn't have an answer. Of course he wanted Frankie to have his kidney, but despite his passionate argument, Sam had a point. It wasn't fair to choose innocent lives over their sister, no matter how much he wanted her to live.

He made a promise to her to find a kidney. He kept his promise. Now he just had to decide to give it to her. He obviously wanted to, but he had to be careful. If he wasn't, the angels might plow through the place like a bullet train.

He had to give the nurse some sort of answer. Sending a look down to the puzzled Sam, Dean pressed his lips together with a groan ripping through his throat. He lolled his head back over to the nurse, his voice filled with exasperation. "Can I think about it for a minute?"

* * *

Frankie scrapped the pile of gravel over the fresh hole in the ground with her foot, covering the summoning box. It had taken her a few minutes to find a place to dig where there wasn't already a box. The thought of all the people who came to that same decommissioned underpass before her to desperately give away their souls dug another hole right into her heart.

Now with her box buried, she looked around at the area, listening to the cars speeding on the highway above her. She scrunched her shoulders up against the chilly air.

"Hello, love."

Frankie jerked her head to the side where another person stood. Although… that wasn't really a person, was it?

"Wonderful weather we're having, yeah?" the 'man' chatted with an obvious British accent. Unable to speak, she took in his appearance. He wore a black suit, his hands in his pockets, and had a rather smug face, even if it was masked in the moonlight.

"Y-You got here fast," she forced out, her voice nervous from his sudden appearance. She really shouldn't be nervous. After all, she had killed multiple demons before.

"Eh. It's been a slow day," he shrugged off. Frankie noticed something about his eyes that she couldn't shake. Maybe it was simply confidence in a dangerous creature.

"Are you a demon?" she asked, turning to fully face him. He thoughtfully rolled his eyes.

"In the simplest terms, yes. You did summon me didn't you?" Against Frankie's internal wishes, he slowly began stepping towards her. "What can I do for you?"

Frankie's body heaved its own jittery breath of air as she shoved her hands into her pockets. _'God, say something! Stop being so nervous!'_ she scolded in her head.

"You seem nervous," the demon accurately noted. His face then split into an amused smirk, masked to look surprised. "Is this your first time selling your soul?"

Frankie scoffed at his sarcastic remark, crossing her arms and tightening them until she felt some sort of security. "Is it that obvious?" she remarked back. What, was she bantering with a demon now? Despite her wishes of having not done so, it at least got a light chuckle out of him.

"Well, let's make this a little easier. Our transaction won't be at all satisfying if it takes you all night to answer." Frankie shivered at the idea of whatever kind of transaction was about to go down. "Name's Crowley."

Frankie raised a brow at the notion. It was strange for a demon to be so formal, but it did take some of the ease off of her shoulders, even if just slightly. She cleared her throat to shake off the jitters in her voice. "Frankie."

"And how are you feeling this fine evening, Frankie?"

She shook her head, not believe that she was having small talk with a crossroads demon. She put on a tired expression before speaking the truth of how she was feeling. "Lousy, to be honest."

"Honesty. A respectable trait."

Frankie rolled her eyes with a smirk. She was actually smirking now? "You flatter me."

' _Oh dear Jesus. Shut up!'_

"You're easy to flatter," he responded with a light bow. When he rose back up, however, his face was all business. "There. Now that we know each other a little better, what is it that you most desire?"

Now came the hard part. Now came the moment where Frankie would lay out her terms in return for her soul. She couldn't believe she was really doing this. The uncharacteristic politeness of the goddamn _demon_ wasn't helping her dissociation from reality.

"Sometime tonight would be wonderful."

Frankie sucked in a breath and forced out words, lest they never come out. "I want health." The demon Crowley seemed unfazed as if he had heard the same wish a million times. In fact, he probably had. "I-I want my kidneys to be healed, and for them to never be an issue again." Her eyes turned away from the emotionless demon and instead looked down to the gravel below her. "I'm already too much of a burden on my family… I can't keep dragging them down with me."

"Is that all?" Crowley asked, an almost unimpressed tone to his words. Frankie flicked her eyes back up to him.

"What more could I want?" she asked back. Though when she gave it a thought, she knew that there indeed was something else she wanted. It was to help ensure that she never had to go to Italy. "There actually is something."

"I thought there might. There was that small sliver of want still unspoken in your soul."

Frankie blinked in awe at the demon. Could he hear her thoughts?

He shrugged. "I'm good at reading people. It's part of the job."

Frankie nodded, though she wasn't sure why she was nodding. "Anyway," she continued with a shake of her head, "I have a family that I hate. My aunt, uncle, and their two sons." Frankie took in a deep breath before extending her demands. There would be no going back. "My brother wants me to go to Italy with them if I survive. I'd rather die… but as you can see, I don't want that either. I want them gone. I never want to see them again. I want them out of my life for good. Can you do that?"

A deep, rather intimidating chuckle reverberated from Crowley's throat. "Darling, I can do anything." The sinister undertones of his words made her wish she had never mentioned her family. "So here's what I'll do for you, love," he announced, slipping back into business mode. "I'll give you ten years. Ten years of health. Ten years without being a burden. Ten years without your pain of a family. After that, well… your deal will be…," Frankie didn't miss the light smirk ghosting across his face, "terminated. Do we have a deal?"

Frankie lingered on that final word. Deal. Somehow, hearing that word made things all the more surreal. She knew she had to agree. She had to. She wouldn't get another chance to be healed and have her family out of her ass forever. Well… ten years. But hey, that was forever for her wasn't it? A soul deep sigh escaped her as she clenched her hands into fists. Her throat grew a brand new lump in it.

"Deal."

The slightly hidden smirk on his face grew to full size, exposing the menacing canines of his meat suit's teeth. He slinked his hands out of his pockets and spread his arms out. "Good girl."

"So… so we're done here?" she anxiously asked, the jitters quickly swarming her again. The low chuckling from the demon didn't help at all.

"You really haven't done this before," he sighed, returning his hands to his pocket and stepping closer. Much too close, Frankie soon found out. She leaned away from him once he got close enough to touch toes. "There's a certain act of _sealing_ the deal that we're missing."

"Okay, so… how do we seal the deal?" Somehow, his smirk grew more intimidating when he shrank it into a light grin with mischievous intent.

"Frankie and Crowley, sitting in a tree…," he spoke lowly, his voice seemingly vibrating against her at the close distance. Frankie eyes widened when it finally clicked.

"A-A-A kiss?!"

"Just a peck. Although, for such a packed request, I might just have to raise the price."

"No! Come on! A kiss?!" the girl exclaimed, turning away and throwing her hands into her face. "I can't-… a demon! Geez!"

"Oh, please. Get over yourself. It's no different from kissing your grandmother."

"Except you're a _demon_!"

"Yes. You've made that perfectly clear," Crowley drawled, voice growing irritated. "I guarantee, it won't be disappointing. I've received many compliments." Frankie turned back towards him with a troubled glint in her eyes. "And a few complaints. It varies. Let's see where you lie."

"I… I don't know, I…"

"Do you want to be free of your burden or not?"

Frankie snapped her eyes up to the demon. Of course she did. And she would do anything to ensure her own happiness, and her brothers'… even if that meant smooching a monster she swore to hunt.

She closed her eyes, attempting to wash away her nerves through a long sigh. "Okay."

When she opened her eyes, Crowley was smirking as usual, only this time the smirk was growing closer. Frankie darted her eyes down to his slightly parted lips. The very sight triggered a flame of anxiety in her chest, causing her to turn away. Crowley gave a tired sigh, but he didn't back away from his close proximity.

"Honestly. It's not like you haven't done this before." Frankie tried. She tried so hard to mask it, but it was no use. He was too clever, too good at reading people. He knew exactly what her tortured look meant. She gave a glance back over to him. He was gazing hard into her eyes. "Wait… no." That ghost of a smirk made its way back to his face. "You… _haven't_ done this before, have you?"

She closed her eyes in defeat. There was no use answering. He knew anyways, and that was very apparent by his short bark of laughter. "This is too rich, even for me. You've never kissed anyone before, have you?"

"Go on and rub it in," she grumbled, crossing her arms.

"Oh, darling, I will do no such thing. It's an honor for me to be your very first kiss."

"Please stop talking," she mumbled as she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Oh, come on now. Where's your sense of fun, huh? After all, it's go big or go home with these things. How much bigger can you get than this?"

"Can we _please_ just get on with this? Please?"

Crowley cocked his head to the side, a seductive smirk plastered on his face. "Eager are we?" Frankie felt like tossing her lunch. "Very well, love."

Continuing where they left off, Crowley pulled a hand out of his suit pocket and lifted it to Frankie's cheek. She flinched when it got too close, but allowed him to place it there. It wasn't like she had much of a choice. It was either his way or no way.

His thumb rested just below her eye. His hand was oddly both hot and cold. It was such a strange feeling, one she wanted to escape from. Why didn't he just kiss her already?!

Finally, his hand travelled away from her cheek and slid to the back of her head, lightly pulling it towards his own. Frankie didn't get the chance to look at his lips this time. It was for the best. She probably would have pulled away again.

The moment their lips connected, it was all Crowley. Obviously, Frankie didn't know what to do, but that was okay considering Crowley was the orchestrator in that symphony. It almost seemed as if he were trying to impress her with how slowly and seemingly expertly he glided across her lips, but the main bullet point of her observation was how surprisingly soft his lips were. She had never felt another person's lips before. Only her mother's on her cheek, this was much different than that.

Sadly, just when she thought she might be the tiniest bit enjoying the sensation, he pulled away, leaving her with a tingling, almost raw feeling across her naked lips. She snapped her eyes open observing his face for… anything. Her eyes however, betrayed her and focused more on his lips.

"Was that so hard?" he chimed as he distanced himself from her. She sucked in a breath to get her lungs back in working order, but she had no words to say. "Well, this has been fun, but there are more souls to collect. I'll see you in ten years." Frankie brought her hands up to cradle her arms. "Enjoy your kidneys, Frankie."

And then he was gone, vanished into the air. But that wasn't the oddest thing. The oddest thing was how her insides felt. They felt… good. Great. Pain nonexistent. No longer needing to hobble with each step to avoid the worst of the agony.

She was cured. Her kidneys were healed. And her soul now belonged to Hell.

… Mission accomplished. Yay.

* * *

Dean sat alone in the cafeteria, his chin resting on his linked hands. He was thinking hard, weighing option after option. In between prolonged thoughts, he would get up to fetch something to eat and bring it back to the table. He'd eat and think some more. And then he'd put the plate off to the side and think even more. He had been sitting there for so long that the sky had turned from pitch black to a light lavender. His eyes were heavy, but refused to sleep on his decision. It was a tough one to make.

How does one choose the life of many innocent people, some ill and some saddened by sick friends and family, between their sister, a sister they hadn't even known for a full month yet? And among those sick innocents was Bobby. What if the angels took him out in the crossfire?

There was a lot riding on his decision. He promised he would do whatever it took to make her well. He found a way, but that wasn't enough to fulfill his promise. He couldn't break one again, especially with her. He remembered all too well the last time he broke a promise he made with her. He refused to do it again. He would save her, and if that meant putting others in danger, well he'd do it. He didn't want to, obviously, but he couldn't see Frankie die because of what he did.

He knew what he had to do. He had to save Frankie. When it came down to it, the world was ending anyways. These people might even die before then, but if they didn't, Lucifer would surely take them out. But there was a catch. Saving Frankie would allow more capable hands on deck to stop the bastard. With her help, they could find a way to stop the end of the world. They could. Anything was possible, especially with her help. He truly believed that. She was a tough, smart kid. He gave her alarmingly low credit for what she was worth. He couldn't let her die knowing he didn't praise her like her should have.

His chest felt a little lighter when the decision was made. He chose Frankie. Sam wouldn't like it, but he could deal with it. Dean would give her his kidney. And he wouldn't be anonymous, either. In fact, he would march right down himself and give her the news.

Scooting his chair back, he rose from his seat and made his way through the hospital until he approached familiar territory. He gave a light smile, feeling good too early about Frankie pulling through. He couldn't wait to tell her. The feeling only grew when he found the light in her room to be on.

He walked right through the door, no knocking or anything. And he soon found his smile to be short-lived.

The room was already filled. Bobby stood on his crutches next to Frankie's bed accompanied by Sam. On the other side of the bed, a doctor stood. Right in the middle, Frankie sat up, looking much better than the last time he saw her.

"Dean," she sighed, a smile spreading across her cheeks. He barely acknowledged her, still trying to figure out if everyone in the room meant something good or bad.

"What's going on?" he asked, closing the door and stepping further into the room.

The doctor wore a smile similar to Frankie's as he spoke. "We can't explain it. It's the absolute craziest thing. But somehow… Frankie here has made a full recovery."

"Uh…," Dean's voice squeezed out on impulse. He shook his head to achieve some sort of function to his vocal chords. "What?"

"We've had three doctor's look into it. Not one of them could explain how her previously dead kidney regained function. We assume it had to do with the rapid decreasing of cysts on her organs, but even that is absurd."

"So… she just… magically got better overnight?" he asked the doctor, switching his gaze to look over the girl. She looked away from him, switching her gaze to the doctor instead.

"Well, we certainly can't explain it with science." The doctor leaned over to the girl and smacked her arm with the back of his hand. "Told you angels were watching over you."

Dean watched as she smiled in response to hearing the good news. He tried for a smile, too, but he couldn't deny his feelings. He was… disappointed. He had hoped that he would be the one to make her smile like that, not the doctor.

And after taking a moment to register how he felt, he was almost angry. Did he not just spend hours brewing over what he would decide to do about his kidney? After all, he had a promise to keep. And now he couldn't keep that promise because her kidneys just decided to heal themselves?

He was bitter. He knew that all too well. He shouldn't be. Now no one had to die because he decided to go through with surgery. That was great. But if that was so great, why did he feel like shit?

"How?" he mumbled under his breath.

"I'm sorry?" the doctor responded. But Dean wasn't talking to him.

He lifted his head to the girl on the bed, meeting eyes with her as he wondered aloud. "How did this happen?"

Frankie's smile didn't look right this time. Her cheeks were pink from grinning, but her eyes didn't smile with her. The gesture just looked plain wrong. The girl shrugged her shoulders as she leaned back against her pillow.

"Miracle?"


	22. Chapter 21 - Clue

**A/N: Hello, everyone! I just wanted to apologize that this is a little late, but here it is! I would like to announce that a new semester has begun and there may be times where I may be more late with a chapter. I don't anticipate it, but if it happens and I'm more late than usual, I will write an update on the latest chapter. Thanks so much for all the support! Y'all are what puts me behind my computer every day! Much love!**

 **Update (1-21-19): Sorry for the delay. I've been caught up in stuff that's seperated me from my laptop and it's caused the chapter to not be up to par with what it should be, so just hang in there and I'll get the update in soon. Thanks!**

* * *

Frankie approached the Impala, her bag hoisted on her shoulder. She sent a smile Dean's way as he opened the car's trunk with a screech from its hinges. He gave a curt nod with a light smile before it faded when something behind her caught his eye. Frankie held the strap on her shoulder as she took a look behind her. The sight had the same effect on her.

The hospital had insisted that Bobby leave in a wheelchair despite only one of his legs being paralyzed. He refused, of course, and pitched a huge fit, but it wasn't until the three of them urged him to just suck it up for the ride back home that he gave in. The sight of him in a wheelchair, unable to walk as he once did, gave Frankie a worse pain in her stomach than her kidneys did.

"Pick up the pace, Franks. We're burning daylight," Dean urged with a casual tone to his words. He couldn't fool her. She knew he was trying to hide the fact that the sight gave him the same effect. Nonetheless, she turned back to the Impala and shoved her bag on top of the trunk's false lid.

Bobby's transition from crutches to wheelchair was almost instantaneous. He couldn't wait to get out of that chair. It went in the trunk, too, even though the man urged them to toss it in the nearest body of water. He limped over to his side of the backseat and opened his door without assistance. Getting inside was a bit more of a challenge for him, but if any of the three of them tried helping, they would be met with something loud and vulgar.

As soon as he was in, the three siblings followed. In no time, Frankie was watching the hospital shrink and shrink until it could no longer be seen. She felt a huge weight lift from her soul, but it could never shake off the shackles of what she had to do to get out of there.

Soon enough they were driving down the highway, the radio playing quiet rock and the AC blowing just a little too cold for comfort. It didn't faze Frankie, though. It felt good. Almost like freedom. With luck, she'd be able to feel that chilly breeze and listen to the same songs over and over again for the next ten years.

As much as it would normally annoy here, it was just the feeling of being in the Impala, the feeling of driving around with her brothers. It was a helluva lot better than pacing the study over and over again and certainly beat laying in a hospital bed every second of the day. It made the act of selling her soul worth it. That's what she was telling herself anyway. She wouldn't let anyone tell her differently.

"Sonnuva bitch. Now what?" Dean groaned from the driver's seat. Frankie switched her gaze from her window to the windshield to see a line of cars at a standstill.

"Must've been an accident," Sam noted. "Least we're moving… a little."

As Sam said that, a man in a radiant yellow vest had appeared and began maneuvering cars to a different lane. One after the other, the cars passed the obstacle in the road. As the line shortened, they got a better look at the action. The most notable thing was the ambulance and firetrucks that flashed their lights brightly through the window.

"Must've been a helluvan accident," Dean mused as they nearly approached the man in yellow. They saw that it was a very bad crash. A three car pileup. One Honda, a man inside it with a large cut on his forehead. Alive. A minivan with an entire family standing next to it. A few cuts, but all seemed okay. And finally a once shiny sports car. The brand wasn't even recognizable. The entire front half of the vehicle was destroyed, pieces of shrapnel peeling off and joining the shattered glass on the asphalt.

Frankie narrowed her eyes. She couldn't see anybody inside. But she saw blood. Lots of blood. An uneasy feeling came over her. She didn't think the people made it. Not with that amount of red coloring the inside.

And she was right. The firefighters worked to pry open the door to the backseat. Once they popped it open, a limp body, eyes open and a large gushing cut across the eyebrow, sagged out. Frankie thought it was a disturbing enough image.

Until she recognized the victim.

"Oh my god," she breathed out. Bobby had turned to ask her what she said, but he was too late to speak when she quickly flung open the door and hopped out.

"Hey! Frankie, whuduya doing?!" Dean called after her, but she didn't stop.

The many firefighters and officers tried to stop her. "My family! That's my _family_!" she screamed, her voice cracking with every word. A large firefighter held her back as she watched three bodies being pushed on stretchers. All three covered head to toe with stained sheets. Her attempts to scream more were halted by the enlarged lump in her throat.

Her eyes scurried to search for the forth one, the body of her youngest cousin, Miles. He was placed on the ground. A man in blue pressed his fingers against his throat, checking for a pulse. The resuscitation began. Then it ended. Then the man shook his head. Then the man motioned his hand. Then the sheet came out. Then it was placed on the body, head to toe.

Frankie's throat finally let out a noise, but it could hardly be considered as words. A noise of absolute despair squeezed itself out of her chest. Her mouth was salty with tears. Her eyes focused on the four bodies, covered with sheets. Her family. Dead. Yes, she hated them. Yes, she never wanted to see them again. But not like this. She still wanted them to live their lives. Just away from her. But now…

Her eyes clamped shut, tears flooding out of them. Her legs were weak. The firefighter struggled to keep her up. There was a voice behind her. Then there were hands grabbing her shoulders and spinning her around.

There was a sudden chest that her face was pressed into. There was no need to open her eyes to tell who it belonged to. She could recognize that smell of leather and aftershave anywhere. As soon as she was met with it, she wrapped her arms around Dean's body and clutched it close as the tears really began flowing.

She sobbed into his shirt, dampening it as she heaved in sorrow. This was not what she wanted. That bastard Crowley gave her a bum deal. She wanted them gone, sure, but this was not the way to go. With them gone, her entire family on her mom's side was gone. That side of her was dead. Now she was left with only her brothers.

She was the last Pearce.

Dean led her away from the scene when the horns started honking. She continued her crying, but tried to quiet it down when he helped her back into her seat. The journey back was worse from then on. Frankie's tears stopped falling a few miles down the highway, but she didn't dare speak another word until they entered Sioux Falls.

* * *

When the world outside the window looked familiar, Frankie's sadness finally subsided. In its place was guilt, an even stronger guilt than she possessed before witnessing that horrible scene.

Through the remainder of the drive back, Frankie looked back on all that she had done to gain such guilt. She killed numerous innocent people all for the sake of murdering demons. She didn't keep a close enough tie to Kate and Adam before their lives blew up. She burdened her brothers. She sold her soul. She hired a demon to kill her family. At what point did Frankie become such an evil person?

And what was all of this for? To be a hunter? To finally get what she wanted? How selfish was that? At that point, she felt that she didn't deserve it. Why should she get what she wanted when she had to make reckless, murderous decisions to get it? The answer was that she shouldn't.

She shut her eyes. If she continued to think like that then she'd never get her head in the game. She had to remember the more important reason why she sold her soul. She had to help Sam, Dean, and Bobby stop the end of the world. She had to somehow find a way to kill Lucifer. That was what truly mattered, not her wants and desires. She had to remember her training and her studies. She had to put her emotions on the backburner. She'd have plenty of time to feel regret in the next ten years. Right now the apocalypse was all that mattered.

Passed the trees and through the dirt speckled road, they finally reached Singer Salvage Yard. As the Impala parked itself in its designated spot, Frankie grabbed hold of her bag and got ready to exit the car. Just looking at the house covered her shoulders in a comforting blanket of relief. Despite going stir crazy in the house just weeks prior, she couldn't be happier to be there after such a horrible excursion.

With no help from the others, Bobby grabbed his crutches and limped over to his house. He moved quickly, determined to beat the other three there. That was a recipe for disaster. Not one of them wanted to patch him up if he fell in the gravel. "Hey, Bobby. Mind slowing down a bit?" Dean suggested, but it came out as more of a demand.

"Bite me," the man snapped, not looking an inch behind him as he hobbled up the porch. Sam, Dean, and Frankie all shared a look with each other that clearly spelled out a shared emotion of frustration.

When they entered the house, the sudden smell of books and musty old wood wafted into Frankie's nose. She inhaled with a somber, tired smile. "It's good to be home," she sighed. And then she stopped herself, reminding herself that it wasn't her home. She warily looked up at the faces of her brothers and Bobby before adjusting the bag on her shoulders and clearing her throat as she tried to recover with an unconvincing grin. "Uh, y'know. Temporary home sweet temporary home."

But then she stopped herself again. What she had said was wrong. That place felt more like home than any place she had been before. Here she had a purpose. Here she had family. Here she felt right. So why was she denying it? That place was her home whether they liked it or not. Although the looks on their faces agreed with her.

Dean wore a light half-smile as he looked down to her. "Want me to take your stuff up to your room?"

Frankie's eyes twinkled with joy. _Her_ room. Not the guest room. It really was good to be home. "I'm fine. I can carry it. Really."

The four walked further into the house, catching sight of the study. "Geez, Bobby. You really let this place go," Sam noted as he took in the sight of the mostly destroyed room, books, pages, and memorabilia scattered over the floor.

"Well sorry fer not sprucin' the place up fer you. If you haven't noticed, I've been busy the past few weeks." Bobby crutched further into the study and threw himself behind his desk, picking up his previously discarded research from the floor.

"You really think you should be working right now?' Dean asked, stepping over stray books to walk into the room.

"There somethin' else I should be doing?" the older man grunted as he slapped a few newspapers on his desk.

"I dunno. Sleep? Maybe sit back with a beer? Listen to smooth jazz?" Bobby shot Dean a glare and the younger man responded with his hands raised in defense. "Just saying. It's been a long few weeks. Maybe you should take a breather."

"I'll rest when I'm dead. How 'bout that? And _hopefully_ with enough research that won't be soon."

"C'mon, Bobby," Sam spoke up behind Dean. "Let us do the research. You get some sleep." Both of the men's suggestions were silenced at the loud slam of books onto the desk. Their mouths closed with sighs in unison.

Bobby rested his hands on top of his desk and leaned forward, eyeing the brothers with a stern glint in his eye. "You boys made a helluva mess. If you want this fixed, you'll stop worryin' about how much sleep you think I need and let me do my job." His firm voice put them in their place. With a soft sigh, Bobby leaned back in his chair and turned his attention to his work. "Feel free to help if you want. Figurin' out dinner might be a good place to start."

Sam nodded as Dean rubbed his face in exhaustion. "We'll go into town and find something." Bobby hummed in agreement, but responded with nothing more than that. As they shared a look with each other, Frankie decided to stop standing off to the side and placed her bag by the door.

She stepped into the room and began her designated task of stacking and organizing books to put the study back together. "Oh no you don't," Dean's voice cut through the air, causing her to look over to him. "Bobby I can allow. But you, go upstairs."

Frankie's brows shot up at the command. "I'm sorry?" she incredulously muttered.

"You need rest. Get to it," he ordered, pointing his thumb behind him.

Frankie continued to stare disbelievingly at him. "Um, don't we need all hands on deck here? What happened to getting in the right mindset and having serious work to do and all that crap?"

"You can do that tomorrow. But today you're gunna sleep like there _is_ no tomorrow."

" _Dean_ ," Frankie snapped. How could he expect her to sleep when the world needed their help?

"Hey," he bit back. "Rule number one."

"Oh, c'mon!" she griped, rolling her eyes.

"Ah! Rule number two?"

Frankie gave a groan to end all groans before turning to the man stationed at the desk next to her. "Bobby?"

"Don't drag me into this. This is yer business."

Frankie bit her tongue to refrain from saying something she would later regret. But who could blame her? She felt great. Better than she had in a long time. She was finally in a state where her body couldn't get in the way of her purpose and now Dean wanted her to take a _nap_?

"I didn't ask you, Frankie," he grunted, giving her one of his signature scowls, one that she saw much too often in the training grounds.

The girl raked a hand through her hair before giving a dramatic sigh and marching passed her brother. She nearly nudged his shoulder with her own, but decided last minute that it wasn't worth it and firmly shut her bedroom door loud enough that they knew her attitude towards the whole situation.

* * *

"So there's rules now."

Dean sent a sideways glance Sam's way only to see the light teasing smile on his face. Dean switched his gaze back through the windshield with a small snort, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel.

"Yeah, that's the only way to get her to listen. You can't tell her a thing unless you threaten her with some sort of law." He shook his head with a nasally sigh. "Even then…"

Sam nodded his head, acting as if he understood. He really wished that he did. The thought of his absence in the last month diminished the faint glow of his once playful smile. "How's her training going?"

Dean eyed his brother without moving his head from the road ahead. "Fine," he curtly answered before turning his attention back to the car driving just in front of them. "She was making good progress before the angels beamed me to the holodeck. Why?"

Sam shrugged while looking out of the window. Silence between the two momentarily claimed the Impala, her monotone purr filling in the wordlessness of the air. To Dean, he was fine with the quiet. Sam, however, couldn't sit still.

"So… is she living with Bobby now or is she still going back to Alabama?"

"She's staying." Dean hoped that question would be the last.

"Has she hunted anything yet?"

"Sam," Dean grunted, cutting off his brother before he spat out any more questions. "Is there something you wanna say?" he asked, finally turning his head all the way over to Sam. "What's with the twenty questions?"

Sam's shoulders began to rise into a shrug, but they fell before they got too high. They drooped with a long sigh from the tiresome man. "I just… feel really left out is all. Just wanna get caught up on everything."

Dean's stare lingered for a few moments before he turned back to the road, not an emotion in sight. "You know enough. Not a lot's happened since you left." Sam clenched his jaw and looked down to his lap. His hands rubbed up and down his thighs to hide the guilt and disappointment from his brother. "Oh. There is one thing." He then looked back over to Dean, meeting only the side of his head and a raised finger extended to make a solid point. "Watch what kinda jokes you throw at Frankie. She, uh… she has a different sense of humor from us."

Sam gave a half nod, stopping midway to cock his head to the side. There was definitely a story there, but he wouldn't ask about it. "Got it."

The Impala delved back into a wordless state, the two brothers inside focusing on very different thoughts. Dean carried on with his driving, pondering over what options would better suit dinner. If he was being honest with himself, he really wanted Frankie to make dinner. Her home cooked meals were one of the best things about having her stay at Bobby's. He'd kill for another slice of that pecan pie. But having her slave over a stove and meander around the kitchen was the last thing he wanted. She just got healthy. He wouldn't want her to inhale something and trigger some sort of inner irritation or anything. That happened, right? Well, he wasn't taking any chances.

Sam was, as always, a different story. While he was thinking of Frankie and her health, it was much different than Dean's thoughts. He thought about how much of a target she was to angels and demons. Zachariah said the demons were buzzing about the Winchester's newfound sister. How they found out about her relation, he didn't know, but he'd be damned if he didn't tear those sulfur-ridden douchebags a helluva new one if they ever laid another hand on her. Angels, too. He hadn't been there for his sister lately. He wouldn't make that same mistake.

It would be tough. The word seemed to be spreading quickly. It would only get harder to keep her safe. Who would stop the angels if they ruined her kidneys again? Cas couldn't keep up the role of 'angel who pops in at convenient moments to kill the baddies and save all the asses' forever. She would be hospitalized again. And waitlisted _again_. And lose all hope of healing and living a longer life. _Again_. He supposed they just had to hope she made another shocking recovery.

Come to think of it… it was really convenient and alarming at how quickly her recovery just popped up. Shouldn't there be a period of tests and waiting to see if they relapsed? The doctors and even Frankie herself seemed very sure that she had fully healed. It made Sam wonder… was it _actually_ surprising and convenient?

"Hey, Dean," he muttered, brows knitting together as an unpleasant thought entered his mind.

"Yeah?" his brother grunted from beside him. He didn't look over to Dean and kept on pointing his eyes off to the side.

"Don't you think it's kinda strange that Frankie recovered so suddenly?"

Dean glanced over to Sam, his own brows narrowed at the sudden question. "Strange how?"

"Like, don't you think it's a little suspicious that she had one foot in the grave one day… and the next she's fully healed? No warning at all?" Sam watched as Dean's own eyes flicked off to the side, thinking over his point.

"Yeah I guess that's… pretty weird. But those kinds of things just happen sometimes I guess."

"Not to us. We're not that lucky." Dean lifted his brows with a light tilt of his head in agreement at his point. "You, uh… you don't think she did something… stupid, do you?" Dean's furrowed brows were once again pointed Sam's way. "Like _our_ kind of stupid?"

"Like selling her soul?" Dean concluded. Sam's jaw tightened as he gave a single nod. For a short period, Dean was silent, looking at the dash of his car in thought. Sam merely waited patiently, waiting anxiously for his verdict. "No."

Sam's brows rose as far as they would go. "No?" he echoed.

"No," Dean came again, meeting Sam's puzzled eyes, "I don't. Weird? Hell yeah. Convenient? No question. But Frankie selling her soul…," Dean paused to tap his thumbs absentmindedly on the wheel. "Frankie's come a long way since she showed up in that diner. I think she's learned a thing or two about what's right and what's plain idiotic. She's a… she's a good kid."

Sam watched his brother carefully, taking in every small muscle tightening and every subtle flick of his eyes to the steering wheel. "Y'know, she really is smart. And clever. A fast learner, too. Whiny and a bit insufferable, but… good. Got the makings of a promising hunter, too."

"And… you've _told_ her this?"

Dean's mouth froze half-open, eyes flicking back up to the road, but not focusing on it. "Well no. Not exactly. And I guess that's part of the problem. I don't give her the credit she deserves. And she does deserve it, but… I dunno. The thought of her selling her soul… I gotta give her more credit than that." After another moment of thought, he nodded his head and relaxed his hands on the wheel. "She's better than that."

Sam's eyes took a turn for the downcast. He envied the way Dean talked about their sister. He had the benefit of spending enough time with her to not even question her loyalty. He wished he had that luxury. "Well I guess I'll take your word for it. You know her best."

Then it was Dean's turn to fill his eyes with lament. "Considering the fact that the last of her family just kicked the bucket… yeah. I'd say I do know her best."

The Impala was silent for the remainder of the drive.

* * *

Dinner was also quiet. Bobby, Frankie, Sam, and Dean all sat at the table, chewing on cheap deli sandwiches and all drinking beer… minus one of course. All three of the men refused to allow Frankie to sip even a drop of alcohol lest her kidneys shrivel up and die again. She huffed and puffed and pulled quite the pout, but she settled with water instead.

On the subject of discussion… there was no subject. Out loud, at least. There was a lot going on inside the skulls of all four of them, but not one of them spoke up until Dean made an impromptu announcement.

"So you have a machete that kills demons, huh?"

Frankie nearly choked on her bite, coughing up shredded lettuce and melted cheese behind a guarding fist. She swallowed it back down, finding a napkin to cover up the sudden display.

"Uh, yeah. Guess I do."

Dean nodded his head. "Were you ever gunna tell us?"

"Well, duh. I just… y'know. Had to find the right time. But with demons and angels and… and my family… I just couldn't find the right time is all. Can you blame me?"

"Alright, calm down," Bobby soothed, placing a hand on the table to stop the frazzled girl before she got too frantic. "Nobody here's antagonizin' you." He pointed a sharp glare across the table at Dean. " _Right_?"

"What? No." Dean rolled his eyes with a small sigh. "Look, I only bring it up now to get it out in the open. It _does_ ask a lot of questions. We don't got a lot of time to ask 'em"

Frankie rolled her own eyes with a small chuckle. "You're telling me, buddy. I've been askin' questions since I found that thing."

"So where did you find it?" Sam asked, giving Frankie a questioning look. Frankie flicked her eyes over to the man and shoved down any negative thoughts that surfaced from doing so.

"In a box in my mom's closet. Along with a newspaper and a photo of John."

"She had a photo of Dad?" Dean questioned, a light hint of surprise veiling his face. Frankie nodded.

"Yeah," she said as if she had just remembered something. She scooted out of her chair and walked over to the foyer. She grabbed her bag and opened it, finding the security camera still photograph in one of the folds. She looked over the face she had etched in her mind. The last time she looked at that photo John had been alive. As far as she knew at least.

"My mom kept this photo to remember him. It was one of her prized possessions. She wouldn't even let me look at it without her around. Worried I might tear it or spill something on it. Probably would have. I was a clumsy kid."

Frankie held out the photo to her brothers, Dean being the one to take it. He scanned the face of his father, Sam doing the same next to him. Both of their faces hardened, a serious and focused emotion filling their eyes. Too long it seemed that they stared at the picture of their father. Frankie didn't blame them. Whatever emotions she had looking at that photo of John could never compare to how they must have felt.

"So yer mom just had it tucked away?" Bobby spoke, bringing all three of John's children out of their trance. "You never saw it before she passed?"

Frankie turned her entire body over to the man, doing what she could to distance herself from the raw emotions tied to the photo. "Yeah. She was never the kind to have weapons. She might've had a bat or something at one time, but never a blade of any kind."

Sam cleared his throat before speaking up. "Do you think Dad might've given it to her?"

"No. I don't think so." Frankie turned around to face him, crossing her arms with a thoughtful look on her face. "Can't imagine why he would. Mom always said that he was in town for a few days after the incident. After that she never saw him again. Unless something seriously important happened in those few days, something she never told me, there would be no reason for him to give her a demon killing machete."

They all wore thoughtful expressions, trying to piece together what they could of the machete's mystery. "Frankie," Dean spoke, "could you go get your machete?"

She was hesitant at first, and it showed, but she did as she was told and fetched her blade from her bag. While she did so, she went ahead and plucked the paper of the sketched symbols from her journal.

When she arrived back at the table, she was immediately met with Dean's outstretched palm awaiting the weapon in his hands. Frankie once again hesitated. Dean sent her a deadpan look with a short sigh from his nose. "You're gunna get it back, Franks."

"You promise?"

The tired look only intensified. " _I promise_."

Satisfied – at least satisfied enough – Frankie set the handle in his hands and backed away, already plotting a rescue mission if he decided to break that promise.

Dean's eyes traced every nick and scuff on the weapon as well as the dried blood still left in a few spots. "Just looks like a machete."

"What're those grooves on the handle?" Sam asked, craning his neck to get a better view over Dean's hands.

"Oh yeah," he noted as he brushed his thumb over the black handle. He squinted his eyes as he tried to make out the symbols. "Hand carved."

"Oh! I, uh, sketched out the symbols here." Frankie presented Sam with the paper and he immediately took it, turning it this way and that to make out the symbols. "I tried looking up what they meant, but I only deciphered one. The others are still a mystery to me."

Bobby reached over the table and plucked the paper from Sam's hands as he was still reading it. The momentary indignant expression on his face was almost enough to make Frankie laugh. Almost.

"Some a' these look familiar. Might be able to find somethin' on 'em." At that note, Bobby reached for his crutches and lifted himself out of his chair with sounds of strain. Sam immediately got out of his chair to help the man, but was only met with his usual bark. " _Don't_ help me! I got it."

Sam backed off, holding his hands up in defense as the man wobbled away to his desk. Frankie shared a tired look with Sam. They sighed in unison, their puffs of air sounding identical.

"Hey, did you see this one?" Dean asked from the table. Frankie and Sam switched their attention back to the blade. The girl narrowed her eyes as Dean pointed his eyes at the very bottom of the handle.

"There's one at the bottom?" she thought aloud. "I only saw the ones on the side. Can you make it out?"

"Nah," he groaned as he held it at a good distance like a senior citizen reading without their bifocals. "Where's some paper?"

Frankie went right to work and fetched him a piece of blank paper from her journal and walked over to Bobby to ask for a pencil. Before she even opened her mouth, the man was holding one out to her, not even looking up from his desk. She plucked it from his hand with a silent thank you and gave it and the paper to Dean.

He began the same task she had with the other symbols, awkwardly holding the paper against the bottom and shading over the area to reveal the shape. Soon enough, they had the image.

"Still don't recognize it," Dean deadpanned. "I don't get it. Shouldn't the symbols match the ones on the knife?"

Sam rounded the table and stood over him to get a better look. "Maybe they're a different alphabet."

"Do these look like letters to you?"

"You know what I mean. Maybe they're, like, from differing cultures."

"Well one of 'em's Hell. What could the other be? Valhalla?"

"Could be for all we know."

"Yeah, well, we should get Odin on speed dial until we figure this out, 'cause I don't got a clue."

As Sam and Dean worked things out, Frankie couldn't tear her eyes away from the paper with the symbol on it. For some reason it looked really… _very_ familiar. She knew she had seen it somewhere. She had crossed those 'z' and 's' shapes within that circle and semicircle before. She just couldn't place where. She walked around the table, never taking her eyes off of the symbol.

And then it finally clicked. Looking at it from the right angle, upside down to Sam and Dean, she finally realized where she saw it. It was a fading memory, but she distinctly remembered seeing that symbol on a business card in her mom's purse a few years ago. On the front it only had the symbol. On the back it had some sort of gardening store or something.

"Where's a laptop?" she suddenly asked, silencing her brothers' light dispute. Their faces asked her why she needed it, but they held their questions and instead fetched it for her. Frankie sat herself down at the table as she typed into the laptop's search bar.

"Whuduya doing?" Dean asked her, making note of every letter she typed.

"I know that symbol. I've seen it. I just… don't know why it'd be here."

All three of the Winchesters looked at the website Frankie had pulled up. It was a shady looking site that was an advertisement for Willadeene's Original Herbs and Gardening Shoppe. There was a picture of the building. It was absolutely nothing special, a rundown establishment of disrepair. But one distinguishable aspect of the building was a hanging sign by the door that had the very same symbol that was on the machete.

"That's it," Frankie uttered quietly.

"What's _that_?" Dean grunted, not looking very sure about the find.

"An herb and garden place, I guess. I dunno. My mom had this place's business card. That's where I know the symbol from." Frankie looked away from the screen to gaze between her brothers. "What do y'all think?"

"I _think_ ," Sam began, standing straight and placing his hands on his hips, "that this place isn't all that it seems."

Frankie followed his eyes back to the screen. "You think so?"

"No doubt. Might be some sort of demon HQ. Might be something else but equally not good."

"One things for sure," Dean followed up. "This place might be the origin of the machete." Frankie let out an involuntary breath at the idea of the shop holding the answer to her weapon's mystery. "We should scope it out. Find out what we can."

"Probably a good idea," Frankie said.

"Alright," Sam sighed from above her, giving his arms a small stretch. "We'll check that out tomorrow. Where's it at?"

Frankie leaned towards the screen to read the small black letters. "Uh… 298 Nightshade Avenue, Parrish, Alabama. That's not far from my house. About an hour away."

"It's a date," Dean announced with a nod of his head. With the matter settled for him, he strutted back over to his chair and devoured the rest of his sandwich.

"It's a pretty long drive from here to Bama. If y'all are too tired we can crash at my place. It should still have nonperishables in the pantry. I could fix something up for dinner there and-"

"Ah, bup, bup, bup!" Dean quickly shushed Frankie, nearly choking on his food as she did earlier. "I'm gunna stop you right there. I meant it's a date for me and Sam." Once met with confused faces, Dean gave another deadpan look at his siblings. "Not like _that_. I meant that me and Sam are going on the trip. Not you."

Instead of blowing up, Frankie sent Dean an arrogant smile, no humor present, and sat back in her chair. "And I'm gunna stop _you_ right there, pal. I'm going."

"Yeah. I don't think so."

" _Yeah_. _I_ think so," Frankie assured in a firmer voice.

"Frankie, we're not having this conversation. It's too dangerous."

"And when has that stopped me before?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe when _an_ _angel nearly killed you_?"

"You think angels are behind my machete?" Frankie chuckled. It sounded almost too cynical for her own voice.

"That's not what I mean. You just got out of the hospital. Do you really wanna go again?"

"I can protect myself, Dean. I have the machete. If demons are waiting for us down there, I'll be ready. Don't make me remind you who saved your sorry ass from a demonic beat down."

"That's not relevant. The fact is you got lucky, _too_ lucky with your kidneys. Don't push that luck."

Frankie placed her hands on top of the table and slowly lifted herself from her chair. Sam sensed the anger brewing within her and stepped back. "It's _my_ machete, it's _my_ state, it's _my_ town, it's _my_ house. It's _my right_ to go and figure out why _my_ weapon has the ability to kill demons. If you got a problem with that, you can go fuck yourself."

Then it was Dean's turn to lift himself from his seat. "Frankie, you're forgetting rule number two."

"If I recall correctly, the rule states that attitudes will be left at the house. Last I checked, we're in the house."

"Well maybe I should make some adjustments."

"What, to make it so your argument wins? _Very_ respectable. When'd you become the president?"

"You're pushing it, Frankie. This discussion is over."

"Oh, what are you, the discussion police?"

"That's childish."

"Guess it runs in the family."

"Keep talking like that and you can forget getting this back." Dean held up the machete, giving it a light toss in the air.

Frankie's jaw dropped. She couldn't believe that he would even think about not giving back _her_ machete. She set her jaw, scowling like a madman at him. "Really, Dean? _Another_ broken promise?"

"I wouldn't have to break it if you would be a good student and listen to your teacher!"

"Is that what you think this is? Another _lesson_?"

"It might as well be. Why not rule number five: shut your trap every once and a while? Rule number five: I know what's _best_ for you!"

"Screw you, Dean!"

"Alright we're done! If you have anything else to say, you can say it in your _room_!"

Frankie's mouth froze in place, glaring across the table at her brother. His eyes, shadowed by passionate eyebrows narrowed with fury, would send any other unwarranted soul running. But not her. She tilted her head, not believing that she heard him right.

"Are… are you sending me to my room?"

For a moment, Dean seemed to think about it, but the moment passed and his expression darkened. "Yeah. Yeah I am. Go to your room." Frankie remained in her spot, mouth now slack from the utter audacity of her brother. She readied her lungs for her rebuttal, but Dean's outstretched arm pointing to the stairs halted her. "Room. _Now_."

Frankie mouth clamped shut. Her hands clenched into fists. In a fit of utter rage, she stormed out of the room, up the stairs, and slammed her door for the second time that day.

The air left downstairs was thicker than molasses. Not even the idle sounds of the creaking, old wood of the house made itself known.

"Superb parenting, Margaret White," Bobby remarked from his desk. Dean's scowl had no effect on the man.

* * *

The pillow once on the bed had never known such abuse before that night. Frankie used it as a conduit for her resonating anger buzzing within her. She was mad, _boy_ was she mad!

She may have acted a little like it down there with the half-assed insults and the indignant nature of her wording, but she was not a child! Being sent to her room? By her _brother_?! This just didn't happen.

Muffled shouts of expletives flew into the fabric of the pillow as she pounded it with her fist. This wasn't fair! There was another indignant exclamation, but she had a reason to exclaim it, because it truly wasn't fair. It was her machete that was doing all the demon killing. She had wondered why since the day she killed that demon at Jimmy's. And now she had the chance to finally figure out why it killed demons and her brother was refusing to let her go? Not to mention the fact that the possible origin was in her domain. The answer was so close to her for years. At least… it might be. They didn't know it was the real deal.

It wasn't like she didn't see the reason. She knew he wasn't putting up such a fight to be mean and condescending. She knew he was worried about her kidneys. He was worried they would be hurt again so soon after she got back from the hospital. The only thing was that Frankie's kidneys were fine, the best they had ever been, and it was all thanks to a lousy demon. No one was going to hurt her like that again, but she couldn't tell them that.

It was frustrating when she knew she'd be perfectly fine but they didn't. They wanted to be careful, but she knew she could be as careless as she wanted and nothing would happen.

What made it even more frustrating was the fact that they were basically back to square one. They refused to let her do anything because of a recent injury and were keeping her under house arrest until she fully healed. The only difference was that they knew how useful she could be and still wouldn't put her health aside. Damn her kidneys!

She decided she wouldn't take all that shit lying down. She made a plan to stay awake throughout the whole night and before Sam and Dean usually wake up, she would sneak into the Impala and hide under a sheet on the floor of the backseat, right behind Dean. She'll stay hidden the entire trip down there and reveal herself once they pass Alabamian borders.

A knock came from the door as she was going over the details of her plan. Her brows immediately furrowed. "Go away!" she called from her bed. The door opened anyway. "Come to take something _else_ of mine? Perhaps my shoes so I won't leave the house? Or maybe my money so I won't fly down there myself?"

"I'm no thief." Frankie's brows let go of their tight pull towards each other and turned her head around to the door. There she saw Sam standing tall and stiff in the doorway. A frown pulled at her lips. "Well… when it counts anyway. Can, uh… can I come in?"

She didn't say anything, but he took that as enough of an invitation. When Sam didn't speak, neither did Frankie. She didn't have any words to say. With Sam now inside and not speaking like he clearly wanted to, things grew awkward and unsettling fast.

"I wanna apologize, uh… for Dean. Y'know, he doesn't mean to be so…"

"Pigheaded?"

Sam nodded with a light snort. "Yeah. Sometimes I think he'll explode if he goes a day without breaking into some sort of stupid argument." And then he stopped talking again, lowering his head in response to the uneasy air of the room.

"Well you didn't just come up here to insult Dean," Frankie mumbled, bringing her legs up to her chest.

"No," her brother sighed. "I just… I wanted to clear the air a bit. If I could. You know we don't wanna make you stay here." Frankie averted her eyes to the side with an exasperated glare. "You know why we want you to stay. I mean… just two days ago you were on your deathbed. And now you're all… healed." He stepped forward and lowered himself down onto the bed. Frankie didn't move, but was perfectly aware of how close he was. "We just don't wanna take any chances. The past few weeks have been bad enough." Frankie heard him swallow and sigh as he looked down to the floor. "And we just don't think your head'll be in the right place… y'know with your family and all."

"Sam," Frankie lowly snapped, hushing the mentions of sensitive topics. "I get it. I know why. I just disagree completely is all."

"I know you do, Frankie. I do. But… just think if this trip _is_ dangerous. Think what'll happen if angels do show up. They'll put you back exactly the way you were, or worse. And if this place is crawling with demons?" Frankie finally flicked her eyes back over to Sam. His face was the pure definition of concern. "I think you're kinda public enemy number three to them. Next to me and Dean."

"So you're just gunna force me to stay here? To wait around while you and Dean take care of my business? 'Cause this is _my_ business. That machete is not yours, it's mine. I should be the one taking this trip, not y'all."

"Frankie-"

"My mother left me with more questions than I can deal with. I never had the chance to answer those until now. When I got sick, that was it. I thought I would die without learning my mom's secrets." Frankie's eyes drifted down into her lap. Conflicting thoughts of her mother floated about her head in circles like a mobile. Snapping out of her small trance, she darted her eyes back into Sam's, forcing intensity into them. "Suddenly I'm well again and I have a lead. I got my life back, Sam. I need to pick up where I left off. For some reason I was granted health, and I'm not gunna mull over it. End of story."

Sam shook his head, his hair lightly fluttering in front of his eyes. "That's not a good idea."

"Yeah, well neither was starting the apocalypse."

Frankie was met with a new face of Sam's. His eyes misted over with guilt-lined sorrow. His head lowered, avoiding eye contact with the girl by his side. He held his hands together, thumbs tucking themselves into fists.

Despite Frankie's obvious feelings towards Sam ending the world, even she knew that remark was a low blow. She held her ground, though. She refused to relent from her true, raw feelings.

However, with one last look at how utterly broken the man was, Frankie found her Weakling Self resurfacing after all this time. Her nice, reasoning nature couldn't bear to see Sam hunch over in guilt because of her words. She rolled her eyes, internally cursing.

"But… _like_ starting the apocalypse… it's done. And we can either make the best of it and keep moving forward, or let it drown us." It took a few moments, but Sam was finally coaxed into meeting her eyes again. "We don't have a lot of time, Sam. If we don't buckle down and realize our priorities, we _will_ drown. The world is depending on what we do to stop Lucifer. That's our focus. Not whether or not my kidneys will be targeted by angels. And, hell, maybe the person who made this machete has the answer to end the Devil, I dunno." When her brother lowered his head once more, she raised it back up by turning her body over to face his. "Sam, this is my choice. If the planet really is going up in ash and smoke, I wanna know that right is protected." Frankie closed her mouth, switching her gaze between both of Sam's glossy hazel eyes. "I can trust my brothers to protect my rights, can I?"

His face was unchanged, his body still. A hefty breath entered and left his body like a ghost. Finally, his head repeatedly bobbed in the nod Frankie was looking for. "I'll talk to Dean. See if I can move him."

A relieved smile shortly visited Frankie's lips. "Thank you."

Sam stood up from the bed with a tight smile. "Don't thank me yet. You know how he can be." Frankie gave a small snort as he approached the door.

But for whatever reason, he stopped. His hand touched the doorknob, wrapped around and ready to twist open, but some other motive possessed him. With a light heave of his shoulders, he looked up and turned around, looking back down to his sister on her bed.

"Frankie… I…" The girl sat expectantly, slightly hoping he would just leave. "I am… so sorry for what I did. I know I should never have chosen… There's nothing I can do- no words I can say to justify just how sorry I am. I'm so sorry."

If Frankie felt uncomfortable before…

"I know you are, Sam," she said with a nod. "I know."

At that, with suffocating discomfort in the air practically shoving him, Sam left her room, leaving her to stew in the last interactions. Well… on the bright side, Dean might listen to him and let her come. Might.

She brought a hand up to rub her forehead. When did things become so goddamn complicated? She decided to end the day with a long, hot shower. She needed one after spending so much time lying in a hospital bed with grimy film covering her skin in between scrub baths.

She let her mind go blank, as blank as it would go. She tried to block out all of the negativity of the day, and there had been a lot. Honestly, she didn't know how she could deal with so much going on in her head. Her soul sold, her family dying, her machete's possible origins and being prohibited to go there, facing Sam again… Frankie didn't think she could take another load. She very well could collapse under all the pressure.

Body washed and warmed, Frankie slipped into some shorts and a loose tank top and threw herself on her bed. She fell asleep before she could wrap herself in blankets.

* * *

It wasn't crowded. In fact there was nobody else there, which was strange for that time of year. It should be the busiest season, but she didn't care. She had her solitude and she was eating it up. The pale, powdery sand was warm, a heated blanket that soothed her lightly freckled legs. The ocean was particularly tame for late afternoon, but it made a serene atmosphere when it brought in a waft of salty air through her hair.

Mobile was especially beautiful that time of year. The lack of tourists helped a bunch, but even if they were there they couldn't distract her from the joy that beach brought her. She and her mother would come down to that beach every other year or so to get away. It was just the two of them, and they had a blast. She wasn't sure if the tear streaking down her cheek was from the memory or from the sand in her eye.

"You're not in the hospital."

She blinked, no longer gazing out into the horizon above the blue-green ocean. That voice surely wasn't one she heard often in Mobile. She held her sunhat against her head as she turned around.

The sun was blocked by an object. That object just so happened to be the head of another person, but it was shielded from her eyes. She scanned her eyes over the rest of the body. And that's when she found a tan trench coat.

"Castiel?" she breathed out in disbelief. She rose from the sand and stood to her feet, now facing the person without the sun blocking their visage. And there he was. It was indeed the angel.

"Hello, Francine."

Frankie shook her head, wondering why the hell Castiel would be there in Mobile. And why would he be at a beach in a trench coat of all things? "What are you doing here?"

"I came to speak to you privately, but we must be careful. Someone could be listening."

Frankie looked around at the barren environment. Only two figures stood and that was them. "Uh… no one else is here."

"Physically, no. But we might not be alone." When his eyes lay on the confused face of the girl, he locked his eyes into her own. They were a little too intense for her. "We are inside your dream right now."

Her brows lifted and narrowed. "I'm dreaming?"

"Yes."

Frankie struggled with words, opening and closing her mouth as she decided on what to say. "Okay… why did you decide to enter my dreams instead of coming to talk to me?" And then Frankie's face evened out. "Unless this is some hyper realistic self-aware mirage. Maybe there was something in that sandwich last night…"

"I assure you I'm not a mirage. I'm taking a short break from my current mission and decided to take care of other matters in the meantime. I visited your hospital room, but there was a swarthy man in your place." Frankie crossed her arms as he looked off to the side. "He was very rude."

"So you found out I was dreaming and decided to interrupt my quiet time?"

"I intend for this to be a short meeting. I would like to avoid other angels listening in case they wish for your capture."

Frankie blinked before nodding her head slowly. "Yeah. I'd like that, too. Well… get on with it, I guess."

Castiel met her eyes once again, his expression completely unchanged. "Let me first congratulate you on your recovery." This time around, Frankie averted her eyes. "And… I apologize for not being able to heal you myself. I understand that it would have saved you a period of pain."

Frankie relaxed her arms and held them loosely over her chest. "It's… it's fine. You didn't have the power. Not your fault."

"And now… I thought that I would answer your final question from our previous meeting."

Frankie's form took on a whole new alert position. "B-But I thought that wasn't part of the deal."

"Well, the last time I checked, I am neither a demon nor Howie Mandel. Therefore the deal does not apply." There was the tiniest glint in his eye that suggested that was meant with some humor. Frankie decided to take it as such. "You should know what I saw." The girl took a small step towards the angel, giving him her full attention. He pressed his lips together as he looked out into the ocean. "It came to me like a vision that I can't see. It was… the strangest thing. I spotted something on your soul."

"My-My _soul_?!"

"Yes." With a small clench of his jaw, Castiel turned his head back down to the girl. "I saw that you are a human to be protected. It is very similar to that of a prophet's. No harm shall come to those with branded souls. What confuses me is that you're not a prophet."

Frankie had been so still that she looked more mechanical than Castiel. "So… what you're saying is… that _I_ am important to Heaven?"

"That is what it seems," the angel confirmed with a slow nod of his head. His eyebrows narrowed when the girl stumbled back a step.

"Oh god, I feel lightheaded," she slurred. She chuckled a little at the irony of that statement.

"Are you alright?" the angel asked, holding out an arm to catch her if she fell over.

"Um… uh, no?" she breathed out, almost unsure herself. "How… h-how could _I_ be important to Heaven? Of all places. What could I possibly be of use for?" Frankie then caught her footing, straightening her form when seriousness flushed her face. "Am I a vessel? Am I, like… _Lucifer's_ vessel?"

"No. That's Sam."

Frankie went back to swaying. "Sam?!" she gasped. "Well… I guess that makes sense."

"You are not a designated vessel either. It's something else. Something I was not informed of."

"Well then… w-what does that mean, Castiel? If you don't know?"

"It means that your purpose isn't known to my rank. It's out of my power. Therefore only higher ranking angels are informed as to why you are of use."

"Higher ranks…," Frankie murmured. "Y'know… that douchebag… uh, Zachariah. He gave me this weird look, too. I don't think he knows why either."

"No. He doesn't know. Otherwise he wouldn't have injured you."

"Well someone should've told him," the girl groused, tightening her crossed arms.

"That must mean that your purpose is known only to the highest ranks of Heaven's angels."

Frankie heaved a great sigh, flicking her eyes to stare deeply into Castiel's. "How high are we talking?" She didn't even need his answer to know. All she needed was the very look of knowing concern he sent her once she asked.

"The archangels."

Even in her dream, Frankie could feel the hard surface of the sand knock the wind out of her lungs from falling. She couldn't help it. How else could one react to hearing that they are suddenly important to Heaven and the archangels?

Castiel's hand was outstretched in front of her and she took it. He pulled her back up to her feet. "Are you alri-?"

"No!" she shouted. "I'm not! I get all right and settled with the conclusion that angels – besides you – are dicks and now they need my help?! What kinda bullshit is going on around here?!"

"I'm not sure. But I intend to figure it out. If your importance is this secret, especially in the midst of the apocalypse, it can't be anything good."

"Oh, great."

"Don't worry. Until we understand why you are to be protected, I will protect you." Frankie paused her fit of frustration to meet his eyes once more.

"You will?"

"Yes. This may affect all of us. We must keep this a secret from everyone, especially the demons. If they find out, they might intend to use you as more than a bargaining chip." Frankie swallowed down the rising fear in her throat.

"What about Sam and Dean?" Castiel blinked at the mention of her brothers. "Should they know, too?"

The angel pressed his lips together and looked off to the side. "It may be best to withhold this information for the time being from everyone. Including your brothers. Once we discover whether or not this is a good thing, then we can inform the others."

"Okay," the girl muttered, unsure about the whole thing.

"Until then," he continued, "if you are in any grave danger, pray to me and I will come to help you. I will try to not be too far away."

With a nod from Frankie, the conversation seemed to be over. However, she had one more question before he beamed himself back to reality. "Wait a minute," she spoke, holding a hand out to stop him from flying away. "I gotta ask… why are you helping me out? Y'know, with protecting me and all that." Castiel's head tilted slightly to the side. "I mean… we barely know each other. Hell, the last time we talked I punched you in the face. So… what's the deal?"

In a puzzling moment, Frankie saw that the angel's hard, unchanging expression did finally change. It softened, almost looking human. "You helped me to realize what's really important. I feel that it's only fair to repay the favor."

The fact that it was a dream didn't matter. Frankie felt the overwhelming gratefulness to have Castiel, the angel, on her side.

And then suddenly his face was back to normal. It seemed as if he were about to zap away, but before he did, he stepped forward, getting just a little too close to her face.

"Remember," he said in his low gravelly voice, "this is our secret."

For some reason, the way he said that last sentence sent an unnerving chill down her spine.

The next thing she saw was the ceiling of her room, a pound on the door raising her from her slumber accompanied with Dean's unmistakable voice. The window showed daylight. She woke from her dream, all the information retained as if it were a real conversation that just happened.

"Holy shit…," Frankie mumbled.


	23. Chapter 22 - Diary

**A/N: Okay... wow. This chapter took a lot longer than I thought it would. Lo siento, my dudes. BUT not to worry. I will make this up to y'all. I promise. I just hope y'all know that I'm not going to give up on this story, so if I take a long time to upload expect a chapter eventually, 'cause I'm seeing this thing through.**

 **Also, THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 100 FOLLOWERS! That's so huge for me! You guys rock! Keep on being awesome, y'all. Now I know you've been waiting for this one, so I hope you enjoy. Thanks!**

* * *

It was a dream. Just a harmless, stupid dream. It wasn't real. It was just a way for her mind to come up with some sort of fantasy in which she's actually worth something. There was no way that she, Francine Elaine Pearce, was important to God, Heaven, and the archangels.

But then, why did she remember it so vividly?

Every word, every concerned line in Castiel's face was etched into her mind as if the conversation had just happened in her room, in real life. According to the angel, she was to be protected because she had business to take care of… Business for Heaven.

She groaned as she held her head in her hands. A headache pulsated throughout her skull. She couldn't believe it. She couldn't. And how could she? What did she have to offer Heaven? She was just a frail, desperate girl from Alabama who had no sense of direction for her life and had just sold her soul.

"Oh god…," she moaned into her fingers. That's right. She just sold her soul to a demon. Her soul belonged to Hell. And Castiel was still convinced that Heaven wanted her help? Maybe he didn't know. The archangels, too. She hoped so. That would look really bad in their eyes.

"Frankie! C'mon! I'm not gunna tell you again!"

Her head throbbed with the resounding knocks on the door, Dean's voice scratching at her sensitive ears. She lifted her head from her hands, eyeing the door warily. She didn't hear his first command. She wasn't sure what he wanted her to do, but she could guess that he wanted her to get up. If that was so, that must mean Sam was successful in convincing Dean to let her go on the trip. But honestly, with the bombshell she was just given, she didn't know if it was smart to go.

Frankie hesitantly pulled on a shirt and some jeans, brushed her hair and teeth, and shoved on her sneakers, all the while replaying the conversation with Castiel in her head. When she was finally ready, she heaved a sigh and headed downstairs.

When she reached the bottom of the steps, she saw Sam zipping up three bags, one of them being hers. Turning her head into the kitchen, she saw Bobby sitting at the table with a plate of pancakes. Dean stood next to him and plucked off a buttery piece before shoving it into his mouth. His eyes flicked up to meet her own across the way.

"Good. You're finally awake." Dean's voice made it clear that he didn't like the idea of her going. "I'm just gunna remind you, I don't like the idea of you going. I think it's just gunna put you in more danger." He put up a hand when Frankie went to protest. " _But_ , Sam told me what you said. And… you're right." A brow rose over Frankie's surprised eyes. The man stepped towards her, exiting the kitchen. "Priorities. We gotta think about what's more important. Right now, that's finding out all we can about your machete. So… pack up."

He walked away before Frankie could get a single word out. He strutted out of the house, Sam taking his place in front of her. "Wish he was in a better mood," he sighed, looking towards the door Dean just walked through. "But, at least he's letting you tag along."

Frankie forced a single corner of her mouth up at Sam. "Thanks," she simply said.

"Yeah. No problem," her brother answered, nodding his head almost too aggressively. Then the two reverted back to awkward silence, only this time, Frankie had enough sense to walk away first.

She entered the kitchen and rested a hand on Bobby's shoulder as he shoveled more pancake into his mouth. "You sure you'll be okay? I mean… maybe I should stay after all. You really shouldn't-"

"Kid," Bobby interjected. "I'll be fine. It's a couple days to myself. Maybe I'll actually get stuff done without y'all worryin' over every little thing I do." Frankie cracked a genuine smile down at the man. "You go on. Find out what makes your blade tick. And let me know as soon as you do."

"Will do." The girl patted his back a few times before grabbing her duffel bag and walking off to the door. "We'll be back soon. Take care of yourself." The man waved her off with his hand before placing his attention back on his breakfast.

It was a cool morning, just enough for Frankie to need her jacket. She tugged it on as she headed for the back of the Impala. She joined her bag with Sam and Dean's on top of the false lid of the trunk and shut it as soon as she was done. She rounded the car and opened her designated spot behind the driver's seat, ducking into the back and shutting the door. The Impala thrummed to life and was soon speeding down the stretching highways.

There was a long journey ahead of them. If they drove all day and night, they would reach her house a little after one in the morning, but that was deducting rest stops and food from that equation. They would more than likely stop at a motel on the way. That was fine with Frankie. More time away from Alabama was warmly welcome.

Although she had to admit that she felt a certain pull towards her home state ever since she found out about that secret symbol on her machete. It sparked a sense of mystery and curiosity within her. Hopefully it wasn't a trap. That would severely put her in a bad mood, but not worse than the bad mood Castiel's news brought her.

She couldn't wrap her head around it. She had so many questions. What was she supposed to do for Heaven? She could barely do anything! And when were they planning on telling her? _After_ Michael and Lucifer's little slap fight? Time was running out, and she had to hear this new from a rogue angel? Was anything in order up there?

She must have been wearing a pout something awful, because Dean loudly cleared his throat, causing her to glance over to the rearview mirror. His reflection was looking right at her.

"So, Franks," he spoke, his voice lively and lacking the attitude he had earlier. That was more than fine with her. "What should we expect? What's Alabama like?" He turned his eyes back towards the road with a forced lax expression. "Anything we should know before we step foot in your neck of the woods?"

Frankie noted how cool he seemed with her coming along, but she knew he was still pouting about it on the inside. Nonetheless, she decided to play along and tried to hide any gloominess from her brooding.

She sucked in a breath through her nose before leaning back in her seat. "Football is the second largest religion in the state, if you don't believe that Jesus Christ is our Lord and savior, keep it to yourself, and if you hear banjos… run."

Though the sentiment sounded like a joke, it really wasn't, and her face showed that. Her brothers' initial smiles were dismantled at the very look she gave. "Sounds like a real hoot," Dean sighed sarcastically.

"Oh, you have no idea," the girl responded even more sarcastically.

"So this place," Sam piped up, gathering Frankie's attention, "Parrish. You ever been before?"

The girl pressed her lips together, trying to muster up any memory she had of the town. "Might've been when I was little, but I don't remember much of anything about it. Gotta say though… that shop… it sounds so familiar. I swear I've never been before, but…"

"Guess we'll find out when we get there," Dean said with a nod of his head. "And I'm just saying this once, Frankie. If this place ends up being some sort of demon breeding ground-"

"Stay in the car. I got it," she huffed. So much for priorities.

Dean went to stay something, but stopped himself before a single syllable left his lips. In place of his words, he turned his eyes down to the cassette playing and turned up the knob, blasting a song with thundering drums and screeching guitars.

For miles and miles it was just like that. Classic rock rifting through the speakers, Sam manning the map, Dean driving with his fingers thrumming on the wheel, and Frankie staring out of the window, drowning herself in her thoughts.

Dean's eyes moved from the cracked asphalt to the rearview mirror. His sights landed on the girl behind him. He looked at her downcast eyes as they pointed through the glass at nothing in particular. Her head was propped up against her hand, elbow resting on the door. Her mouth was drawn in an arch as something weighed heavily on her mind.

Something was up with her, and honestly, it could be a number of things. It could be the fact that he took her machete, it could be his authoritative commanding of her, it could be the fact that they were driving to a place she utterly despised, it could be the fact that he basically grounded her from hunting work, or it could be something completely different and out of his knowledge. Or it could be all of the above.

His chest absentmindedly blew out a quiet sigh. When did all of this become his responsibly? Well… it might've been the moment Sam came back with the DNA results, but why did he have to take the responsibility? Sure, it was his job as the older brother to look after her and make sure she didn't kill herself, but he didn't _have_ to take it.

But who was he kidding? If faced with the choice again, he'd still choose to train her and take that responsibility. Whether he wanted it or not, she was his sister. And he had to do what he saw was best for her.

He used to think the best thing was for her to go to Italy, but that changed fast. Now he knew that the best thing was to keep her close and safe, but keeping her safe was beginning to become a harder task than he initially thought. She was too stubborn to keep on lockdown, but that's what was safest for her until they knew for sure she wouldn't get sick again, but you couldn't tell her that, oh no.

And yet here she was, in the Impala with him and Sam and on their way to solve a mystery they weren't sure would end well. That just proved that he had no self-control. He let Sam change is mind and if that trip ended with Frankie getting hurt in any way, he'd be to blame. That was the way older siblings worked. The eldest took all the responsibility. In this case, it really would be his fault.

And if it ended fine and she didn't get a scratch on her, then he was still left with the task of being her superior, her teacher, her big brother. He wasn't good with this raising thing. He barely got by with Sam, and now he had a brand spanking new twenty-one year old to look after. Why'd he have to dig holes for himself like this?

He'd just have to keep doing his thing. Barking orders and forcing sense into her was the only way she'd listen, and even then it was a gamble. Maybe he should try a different tactic, but he'd have to think of one first.

He wasn't really sure, but he thought that maybe he could try letting loose. Just a little bit. It seemed counterproductive, but maybe if he relaxed some of the tension between them, then maybe, just maybe, she'd open up to his reasoning. He _did_ know what was best for her, and if he showed her that he could be a reasonable gent she might listen. It was a stretch, but no one got anywhere staying in the same place.

His fingers twisted the knob on the volume, quieting down Zeppelin enough so that she could hear him. "Hey, uh, Franks," he spoke. The girl blinked before turning her head over to the mirror. Dean had her eyes at first, and then he pointed them down to the radio just beyond his gesturing hand. "Any requests?"

Sam's head snapped over to his brother at nearly neck breaking speed. Dean's rule was always 'driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.' Dean rarely ever let him pick the music, and now he was passing the torch over to Frankie for no foreseen reason? Things really _had_ changed since he left.

Despite the rare and genuine gesture Dean gave, Frankie shook her head with a polite no before returning to her window. Well… can't say he didn't try. He nodded even though she wasn't looking and turned the dial back up to its previous level. As he did so, he caught the questioning and indignant look on Sam's face. Dean pressed his lips together, giving a near silent, half-hearted, "Shut up," before darting his gaze back to the road.

* * *

Five hours down the road, they reached Kansas City. It was passed noon and the trio inside the Impala could feel the groaning itch of hunger. It only took a small mutter of, "Lunch?" from Sam for Dean to pull into a modest looking diner. It may have been convenience, or it may have been Dean's seemingly supernatural pastry radar, that the sign in the window read, ' _Best pies in Missouri!_ '

The man wore a large grin as he snickered almost mischievously, taking out the keys to his car and stepping out from behind the driver's seat. Frankie and Sam followed suit. When they walked inside, they saw that it was nothing special. Tables here, booths there, a bar-style counter that prominently displayed the thick slices of pie behind glass across the way. As much as Dean wanted to gravitate over there, he let Sam practically drag him over to a booth.

Sam and Dean took their normal position, one in each bench. Then that left Frankie with a decision to make. Who would she share a seat with? Frankie knew the answer off the bat, but she knew that it would be rather obvious why she chose that person, and she wasn't ready to deal with that kind of awkwardness.

Just about the time that they took notice of her simply standing there was when she planted herself in Dean's seat. He scooted over to make room for her. Whether Sam was looking at her or not, she avoided him and looked over to the waitress who approached the table and set down menus with an engorged smile.

"Welcome to Big Pete's. What can I start you guys off with?" she asked in a too cheery attitude. Frankie was confused as to why she'd be so chipper, but she understood when she saw the interested glint in her eyes when she looked at her brothers. She stifled a roll of her eyes.

"Yeah, I'll just have a water," Sam ordered, offering a light smile.

"Slow down, Sam. It's only noon," Dean remarked, sending his brother a teasing quirk of his brow.

Sam gave him tight lipped smile in return. "We can't all run on alcohol."

"Yeah, speakin' of…," he added, turning his head over to the waitress with one of his signature charming smiles. Frankie nearly laughed. It was such an alien sight compared to the glares and scowls she usually saw from him. "I'll take an El Sol."

"Sure thing," the woman drawled. She then turned her attention to Frankie sitting beside the man she had just ogled. "And you, hun?"

She pursed her lips before deciding on the spot. "Think I'll have an El Sol, too. Thanks."

The waitress turned to get their drinks, but she was stopped by Dean's voice. "Woah, hold on." She, Sam, and Frankie all turned to look at him, but he was only looking at his sister. "Seriously?"

"What?" she humorlessly chuckled, switching her gaze from eye to eye to try and see what was bothering him.

"You _just_ got healthy. You really wanna ruin that with alcohol?" This time Frankie went through with her rolling eyes. "She'll take a water."

Her eyebrows shot up the instant the words left his mouth. "Heh, Dean," she chuckled sans humor. "I'll live if I have _one_ bottle."

"Yeah, well I'm not taking that chance," he argued as he looked over the menu. "Besides, you've been drinking a lot lately. Maybe you need to rethink your diet."

"Dean. We're not discussing my dietary habits right now."

"I'm just sayin'. Someone with your… _problem_ shouldn't be drinking stuff that harmful."

Frankie lowered her voice so the waitress couldn't pick up what she was forcing through her teeth. "I've had a rough few days. I could use a little something to ease the stress."

Dean lowered his voice to a whisper, too. "And you can do that in other ways. But I'm not gunna sit here and watch you drown yourself in alcohol while your kidneys wait for the right moment to _explode_ again!"

"They _won't_."

"And you're so sure?"

"Maybe I am. Maybe I know my body better than you. After all, I've been attached to it for _two decades_."

"Sam, a little help here?" Dean looked up to the surprised gaze of his brother. The man struggled with something to say. He was torn. On one hand, he didn't want Dean to be pissy. On the other hand, he was fighting to regain Frankie's respect.

"Uh…," he began, clearing his throat. "Maybe… one drink won't hurt."

"Are you kiddin' me?"

"Dean, stop being so loud!" Frankie argued.

"You started it! Just take the damn water!"

"I _want_ El _Sol_!"

"You're _getting_ the _water_!"

"She'll just take a Coke."

Frankie and Dean, practically an inch from each other's foaming mouths, whipped their heads over to their brother who sent the startled waitress a timid smile, head tilted and eyes shining in an apology. When she walked off to get their drinks, Sam looked back at his two siblings. He shrugged his shoulders at their heated expressions.

"What? You two were making a scene." Frankie and Dean shared a short-lived look before leaning away from each other. "Now apologize." Then their heads snapped back over to Sam, faces clearly displaying their incredulity. Sam didn't back down, and lifted his brows expectantly.

The duo spared another quick look at each other before sighing and grunting in unison. "Sorry."

To avoid lingering their glares, Frankie and Dean buried their faces in their menus. Frankie searched for something that wouldn't give Dean a heart attack if she ordered it.

When the waitress brought their drinks, she took their orders and their menus and walked off to have them made. That left the three now uncomfortably silent. However, the silence did give the two time to cool off.

She knew Dean had good intentions, but he could have carried out the point in a way better manner. She wished he'd second guess his actions more, but that was one of his flaws. He always shot first and asked questions later.

Dean knew he should have eased into his point instead of taking over, but he was caught off guard by the girl. He thought she would have known better. Did she learn nothing from her recent experience? Her body was fragile. She shouldn't be cramming harmful things down her throat! He scratched his sideburn as he let out a huff. If he was going to go through with that whole 'letting up' thing he needed to start acting on it.

Suddenly, as if the volume had been turned up for that specific song, Here I Go Again by Whitesnake rang through the diner from the jukebox across the room. A smile made its way to Frankie's lips, a humored huff leaving her nose.

" _I don't know where I'm goin'_ ," the jukebox sang. " _But I sure know where I've been. Hangin' on the promises and songs of yesterday…_ "

' _And I've made up my mind,'_ she sang along in her head. _'I ain't wastin' no more time.'_

She loved that song. She would belt it with her mom when they made grocery runs. The woman was tone deaf, God love her, but she sang with passion and fire. She recalled one time when they were singing it in the aisle of their local market. They got so many nasty looks, but one guy in particular decided to join them. They were eventually asked to leave. She always assumed they thought they were drunk.

For once, a memory of her mother made her laugh and not cry. Caught up in the moment, she began lightly tapping the tips of her fingers on the table.

" _Though I keep searchin' for an answer, I never seem to find what I'm lookin' for…_ "

' _Oh Lord, I pray you give me strength to carry on!'_ she internally sang. And then the words made a sudden shift, going from cheery to somber. _''Cause I know what it means… to walk along the lonely street of dreams…'_

Maybe there was a separate reason why she responded to that song.

"And here I thought you didn't like good music." Frankie turned her head over to Dean. His attitude seemed to have been pushed down and replaced with an amused air about him. "Whitesnake fan, huh?"

The girl decided to play along, shoving down the suddenly gloomy feeling that had come over her. "Uh, just the song really. One of my favorites."

"Eh. I'll take it," he reasoned, taking a sip of his beer once doing so. He got caught up in the moment, bobbing his head to the beat and swaying the bottle from side to side. Frankie and Sam snorted at the same time. "But here I go again! Here I go again! Here I go aga-heh-heh-n!"

"Don't do it," Sam halfheartedly warned before Dean cut him off with an attempt at David Coverdale's passionate screech.

"Here I _go-o-o-ow_!"

"Oh my god, Dean," Frankie sighed with her hand on her face. Despite the mild embarrassment, a grin grew on her face.

Their food came out and they dug in. Little conversation was made. They were hungry to begin with. Once food was out of the waitress's grasp, they destroyed their meals, eating all but the plate.

Frankie and Sam held their stomachs, groaning in satisfaction. Dean, on the other hand, was not so stuffed. "Man, that was good," he breathed out. "I could go another round. How 'bout you guys?" His answers were glares and groans. He chuckled heartily. "Well, you might not, but _I_ …"

He didn't finish his sentence before he shooed Frankie out of the booth. She growled at him before turning out of the seat and letting him scooch passed her. He strutted his way over to the dessert display, greeting the man behind the counter and picking out which one looked the most appetizing.

Back at the booth, however, Frankie slowly righted herself back into a comfortable position and sighed, oddly loving the feeling of being so full that it hurt. She shook her head with a light chuckle as she opened her eyes. There she saw Sam, reacting similarly, although her smile was less prominent after gazing at him.

She didn't want to, god how she didn't want to, but she couldn't look at him without seeing the dark glower on his face, only seen through the iron window of the panic room. His lax face and soft eyes couldn't shadow the memories of him jacked up on demon blood. She didn't think she'd ever get over it.

"You okay?" he asked. She shook her head, suddenly realizing that he caught her staring at him.

"Yeah," she answered quickly, hoping to avoid explaining her seemingly serious expression.

He nodded his head in response. "Okay. Uh… how was your lunch?" Frankie's wide eyes and forced breath caused a small puff of laughter to escape him. "Yeah, me too. Good thing we ate so much, though. We've still got a ways to go."

"How much longer?"

"Nine hours? Ten at most. We'll stop somewhere to rest up for the night."

The girl nodded her head as Sam closed his eyes, leaning back in his bench. Frankie's eyes blinked down to the table. She could tell Sam was trying, trying to prove that he wasn't the man he used to be. Even if it was simply asking how her lunch was, she could tell that he was trying to do anything he could to make up for his actions, no matter how small a gesture.

Frankie initially wanted to believe nothing could make up for what he did, but she had to stay true to her words. She couldn't let his poor decisions drown her. She had to keep moving forward. To do that, she would have to make an effort, too.

"Thank you, by the way," she forced out, masking it to seem genuine, which wasn't hard. Sam opened his eyes and pointed them her way. His brows narrowed over his gaze.

"For?" he asked, curiosity lining the syllable.

Frankie shrugged, pointing her own gaze up to the man. "Handling our little spat earlier. It may not have seemed like it at the time, but… I was glad you stepped in." Frankie heaved a great sigh. Sam didn't speak. "Dean and I may seem closer – and we are – but… the arguing hasn't gone down much."

"Yeah," Sam snorted. "I've picked up that much."

"Yeah. Just warning you, there will most likely be more arguments like that." Frankie paused to chew her lips for a second, choosing her words carefully. "If you could step in and stop them like you did this one… it would really ease the weight on my shoulders."

Frankie waited with baited breath before the man spoke up. "Yeah, sure thing."

He tried to hide it, but Frankie could hear the slight relief in his voice. That was a good sign, then. Maybe it gave him a little hope to rehabilitation. Only time would tell if that rehabilitation came.

"Guys," came the muffled voice of Dean, plate of pie in his hand. Or at least what was left of it. "You gotta try this pie," he added, a speckle of whipped cream flying off of his lips. Frankie and Sam groaned before exiting the booth and escaping the image of food. Dean turned around, shrugging off their refusal to scoop the last bit into his mouth. He lightly slapped the payment on the table and followed his moaning siblings outside.

* * *

Night fell when they reached Tennessee. Despite taking a nap on the way over, Frankie was exhausted. As were the other two. Dean pulled into a modest looking motel. Not too shady. Well lit. Nice diner they could go for breakfast the next morning across the street.

They paid for the usual room, which meant only two beds. The issue became quite apparent when they entered their room and Dean immediately claimed one of the beds by tackling it.

Sam and Frankie were now left with a rather prominent issue. One got the bed while the other got the floor. The answer was quite apparent between the two, though, on who got the bed.

"You take the bed," they both spoke in unison. Their gazes matched in surprise.

"No, you take the bed," Sam offered. "I've slept on floors before. I'll be okay."

"I have, too, Sam. It's fine. You take the bed."

The man gave an amused smile, holding up his hands. "I'm not taking the bed. You take it."

Frankie placed her hands on her hips as she walked over to the closet. "No," she said in an almost singsong manner. "You need your strength in case demons show up. Y'all've made it perfectly clear who's gunna be fighting and who's not." She retrieved a blanket and a pillow from the closet. "You take the bed."

"No. You take the bed," Sam countered, voice growing firmer.

Frankie dropped the pillow to the ground with more force than she would normally put into it. "No. _You_." When Sam sent her a scowl, she added onto her argument. "Why do you want me to take it?"

"Well… I… I dunno. You could hurt your back on the floor."

"So can you."

"Frankie, this is a stupid thing to argue about."

"You're telling me." Before Sam could say another word, Frankie held up a quick hand. "I call it. No chivalry. I'm gunna walk into that bathroom and take a shower. When I come out, you better be in that bed."

Without another word, Frankie grabbed sleep clothes out of her bag and walked into the shower, closing the door with a huff. The shower came and went. The clothes were put on. She brushed through her stringy, damp hair. It had gotten longer, now reaching a few inches passed her shoulders.

While she was at it, she took in the rest of her features. Her eyes had dark bags under them. She wasn't sure how much was due to how tired she was or how heavily her issues weighed on her.

The other feature she inspected was her ear. While it certainly wasn't pretty, the dark, swollen edges had lightened up. It was easier to hide since her hair was getting longer, but it was still a huge eye sore. She tore her gaze from it before she developed overwhelming emotions.

With her nightly routine done with, Frankie exited the bathroom with a long yawn. She was immediately met with two loud snores from her brothers. She was sure she wouldn't wake them in their comatose state. She suppressed a chuckle as she walked further into the room.

However, when she made her way over to her spot on the floor, she saw a body there. "Dammit, Sam," she whispered, placing her hands on her hips. Now it was starting to get annoying. Making up for his mistakes or not, she wouldn't let him have this one. "You're not winning this one," she growled, walking over to the bed.

She grabbed the pillows, snatched the comforter from the top, and dropped them on the ground at the foot of the bed. She set up her own little nest and buried herself in the comforter. It wasn't necessarily comfortable, but she fell right asleep anyway. She was way too tired to dwell on things like back support.

* * *

" _It was the heat of the moment_!"

Frankie's throat ripped out a groan as she reached for the damn alarm clock on the nightstand. She forced her arm into the air with all her might and threw it down to slap it, limb going limp halfway down.

However, when her arm made the touchdown, there wasn't a clock there. Just carpet. Her eyes split open, wondering how carpet got so high off the ground. Then, all at once, her memories came back to her. She wasn't in her room at Bobby's. She was in a motel. And her back _hurt_.

She groaned for a different reason as she twisted around on the ground. Her back cried out in pain. That was the con of sleeping on the floor. She wondered if it was really worth it to win her little argument with Sam.

"Y'know, the point of getting a room with two beds is to actually use 'em." She turned over, squinting through the sunlight seeping through the window, to look up at Dean. He stood, fully dressed, above her and Sam, although the latter had yet to wake up. "Sam," Dean grunted with a kick to his brother's legs.

Sam awoke rather ungracefully, jerking so hard that his bangs were caught in the drool on his cheeks. His face scrunched into the usual morning glare. Moaning, he propped himself up on his elbow and rubbed his face, scrapping the spittle from his chin. When his eyes opened, he sent them around the room, finally landing on her. His face fell.

"Frankie," he sighed, but his others words were stopped by the girl sitting up from the floor.

"Morning," her throat rasped.

"Rise and shine, y'all. We're goin' to Bama," Dean announced in an overly southern accent.

After a sluggish period of getting dressed, a quiet breakfast, and a few minutes to stretch so that Frankie and Sam's back pains lessened, the three finally set off for Hollis County.

In no time, buildings and sidewalks became forests and kudzu. Asphalt blended in with dirt, and the skies lost their bland gray tones. In place of the dull hue of the sky, it was replaced with a bright, pale blue. Soft, wispy clouds covered the sky like a protective blanket. The whole scene looked straight out of a Bob Ross painting.

Once they finally passed the state border, things got more obscure. Cattle farms came every few miles. Barns in states of decay were as frequent as bars in towns. When they passed a farm, a hoard of dogs had spotted the Impala and chased it for a good mile before they gave up. A goat stood on top of an abandoned car on the side of the road. The road came to a bridge that looked one good kick away from collapsing. It had been a stressful few minutes for Dean.

For the most part, the roads were vacant. But one moment came where it wasn't.

"What the hell…," Dean muttered. He slowed the Impala as they approached a tall, green tractor cruising on the side of the road. In the driver's seat, a shirtless boy sat, a toothpick punctuating his mouth. Sam joined Dean in an astonished state.

"Uh… Frankie," Sam muttered. "Is that a twelve year old driving a tractor?"

The girl sat back in her seat, looking out her window with a small, amused smile. "You're in my neck of the woods now, boys. Better get comfy." Sam and Dean shared a wary look with each other.

Eventually, the outside word began to look familiar to Frankie. She knew where they were, and they did, too, as soon as they passed a rickety, faded sign that read, "You are Now Entering Hollis County, Alabama!"

"Welcome back, Franks. How's it feel?" Dean muttered halfheartedly. The girl harrumphed and crossed her arms.

"It doesn't."

Frankie hated the feeling of being back in her town. It felt like shackles were being clamped onto her body every mile deeper they went. She hoped there would be a wreck in the road, or maybe cows passing from pasture to pasture just so they could prolong the inevitable. But that wish didn't come true. They turned on the final dirt road that led to her house.

"I'm telling you now, Franks. If all this dirt mucks up my car, I'm getting you to wash her."

She almost didn't respond, too frazzled from being back home. "Reasonable enough."

And then, in a heart stilling moment, there it was. There was the one story house with faded white shingles. There was the house with maroon curtains in the window. There was the front door with the small window at the top. There was the porch with the vinyl railings.

And there was the moving truck in the driveway.

"What the fuck," she exclaimed. "Stop the car!"

The Impala screeched to a halt right in front of her house. She threw open the door and hurried out of the car, rushing up the lawn. "Frankie, what the hell! What's going on?!" Dean yelled after her.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" she shouted at the woman on the porch, a box in her hand that read 'kitchen.' She turned around with an alarmed expression, and she was right to have it. "This is _my_ house! What is this?!"

"Your…," the woman muttered, squinting her eyes at the red-faced girl. "Frankie?"

She was momentarily caught off guard, but she didn't let it waver her. Lots of people around town knew who she was. "Yeah. Who the hell are you?"

"I-I'm Vera. Mr. Biddick's daughter?" And then Frankie remembered her. She hadn't seen her in years. She looked so different. But that didn't matter. What mattered was why she was moving into her goddamn house! "I-I can't believe you're here," the woman continued. "We-… many of us… thought you were dead." Frankie's brows narrowed, but she wasn't confused. "Or missing. Or… something! We didn't think you were ever comin' back."

"Well then this must be pretty awkward for you," Frankie snapped. "So now you mind telling me why you're putting your stuff in my house?"

Vera stood quiet on the porch before letting out a long sigh. She placed the cardboard box on the chipped rocking chair next to her and held her hands together. "Would you like to come inside and talk?"

"No. Out here's fine," Frankie coldly bit. The woman let out another sigh and leaned against the door frame.

"Okay. Where do I start? … Um… well, the day after your momma's funeral, a bunch of us went to your house to drop off some food. I made you a blueberry crunch." Frankie crossed her arms, too, and leaned against the porch railing. "But you weren't there. So we decided to go the next day. You still weren't there. We began to get worried. I mean, all that food would go to waste. There was a lot of food."

"Vera," Frankie snapped.

"Of course… uh, well we decided to investigate the house. When we saw the inside, you were missin' and there was stuff strewn everywhere. Drawers open, clothes all over the floor, closets that had been rummaged through…"

Frankie blinked as she remembered her frenzied searching for John's photo. She hadn't cleaned up after herself.

"One of your old classmates tried callin' your cellphone, but it said the number was no longer available. We assumed… maybe you'd been kidnapped or something. We started up an investigation. The police looked for you for a week and a half. After the first two days… everyone had assumed the worst. But Dad pushed for the investigation before we finally had to give up."

Alden Biddick pressed for an investigation for her? She knew he liked her – babysitting a kid for that long will grow some sort of attachment – but she was surprised at the gesture.

"After that, your house went on the market."

"What?" Frankie exclaimed, borderline growled.

"Your mom had paid it off. There were no debts tied to her. The house went up for cheap, and since me and Paul were lookin' to move, well…"

"Well I'm not dead. So what're we gunna do about this?"

"Whuduya mean?"

"This is still my house. I still own this place."

"Well… hun… you actually don't."

Frankie's eyes narrowed on the woman. "What?"

Vera's voice lowered, tone softening as if speaking to a child. "This house is in our name now. We made the purchase, we signed the papers… we own this house."

Frankie was quiet. She was quiet for the longest time. What could she possibly say? Her house, the one she lived in since an infant, was no longer hers. All her memories now belonged to Vera and her husband. Frankie's fingers went numb with how much she clenched her fists.

No. This was still her house.

"Momma!"

Her eyes snapped down to a child, just passed the toddler stage, running over to Vera and clutching her legs. "Come see my room! Come see my room!"

"Not now, hun. Go on and play. Mommy's talkin'." When the kid kept pulling on Vera's pants, she sighed and crouched down next to the child. "Why don't you go play in the backyard? Go count how many rocks there are."

"Okay, momma!" And then he ran off, heading for the backyard Frankie used to play in.

"So…," she muttered. "You're a mother."

"I'm a mother," she confirmed, looking back at her retreating son. "Tallon. Just turned four this spring."

Frankie unclenched her fists. She let out a burdened sigh. "I didn't know you had a kid."

"Yeah. Got one on the way, too." Frankie snapped her eyes down to the woman's stomach. It was in the early, early stage of forming a bump. She didn't even notice it before. "That's why we were lookin' to move. Dad's house was gettin' crowded so… and this place was available so…" Frankie nodded her head, understanding. "And… I dunno. We thought it was better if someone who knew you got the house instead of a stranger."

"Where's my stuff?" Frankie abruptly asked. She snapped her eyes up to the surprised woman. She didn't want to hear about why she bought her house. She just wanted to know where her memories were. "I doubt you reused all our stuff. Where are they?"

"Oh. Uh, well they took it to a storage unit in Foliage. Y'know, right next to Jackson's? The restaurant? Here, I'll give you the address."

The woman disappeared inside to get the information. While she did, Frankie looked around the porch. She used to play right at her feet. Over on the rocking chair was where she read books and wrote in her diary. That crack in the window was from her, when she played John Winchester and swung a stick around like a knife.

This was her house. But now it was someone else's. How much more could she lose? She lost her soul, lost her family, lost her machete, and now she lost her house? When would things start working out for her?

Vera returned and gave Frankie the address. The younger girl turned and walked off without a word, but Vera wasn't done. "U-Uh, if you don't have anywhere to go, Frankie, you can come stay with Dad! He's got a room or two to spare!"

Frankie stopped, but she didn't turn around. "Okay."

"I should warn you, though. He's havin' a get-together tonight, so it may be a little crowded, but it won't be long."

"Got it. Bye, Vera."

Frankie opened her side of the Impala and crouched in. She was immediately met with questions from her brothers. "What's going on? What the hell happened?" Dean pressed.

"Is everything okay?" Sam asked, feeling the anger resonating from the girl.

She didn't look at them. She pointed her eyes out of the window of her former house. She did, however, hand Sam the piece of paper with the address on it. "Go here."

Sam took the piece of paper and looked at it. He opened his mouth to say something, but he instead handed the paper to Dean. The older man scanned it and turned to look back at Frankie. "What's this?"

"Just drive," Frankie mumbled.

"But where are we _going_ , Frankie," he pressed further, but it was short-lived.

" _Just_. _Drive_."

His mouth shut. He glanced over to Sam who wore a concerned expression. Neither of them said a word when Dean made a three-point turn and headed for Foliage.

* * *

"A storage unit?" Sam inquired. He as well as Dean gazed at the tiny building in front of the rows of units.

"Tell ya the truth, I've about had it with storage units. You don't think angels'll be in this one, do you, Franks?" She stepped out of the car without a word. Dean huffed and followed her out. "Alright, Frankie. It's answer time. What're we doing here? And don't give me that look."

Frankie wiped the tired glare from her face and sent it away with a sigh. "They thought I was dead and put my house on the market. A new family moved in and they moved my stuff to storage. Happy now?"

Dean's eyebrows rose as Sam's knitted together. "Oh. Oh wow." Frankie turned her head away from them so they didn't see the glassiness of her eyes. "Uh… sorry, Franks. That's-"

"Over. It's over. Let's just go inside. It might, um… might have something about the machete in there. Let's check."

Sam and Dean watched Frankie enter the tiny building to retrieve the key. They both sighed, Dean through his nose and Sam through his arched lips.

"I guess sending her back home wouldn't have worked out after all," Sam mused. Dean glanced over to him for a few seconds before returning his gaze to the building. He hummed in response.

As soon as Frankie made an appearance, Dean nodded over to Sam. "Let's go," he said as he followed after their sister. Sam trailed behind him.

They passed the smaller single units and approached a large, rectangular one. It looked just slightly smaller than John's. "23," Frankie sighed, gazing up at the marked number above the door. "This is it."

She crouched down and turned the key to unlock the large door. When it gave a confirming click, she clutched the handle and slid the door up, allowing sunlight to touch her former things.

For a while, she simply stood there, taking in the view of her furniture and boxes of sentimental things. Everything was labeled accordingly. Had it been anything else, she would have admired the organization.

Finally, she took a few steps inside, brushing her fingers against her mom's old nightstand. She traced her fingers over the molded design before her tips touched the drawer's knob. She slowly pulled it open, revealing the tiny bible she never knew her mom had. There was so much she didn't know about her.

"Um, Frankie?" Sam spoke up. A few seconds of silence passed before Frankie hummed in response. "Should we… look for something? Did you want to look for something?"

A few more seconds of silence passed. "Yeah. Just, uh… look for something important."

Dean shook his head. "Like… what?"

"I don't know. Just something that looks… I don't know! Important!"

Sam and Dean visibly backed off before they stepped further into the unit. They began inspecting every box, every drawer of every nightstand and dresser. It took Frankie a few minutes of rubbing her face for her to finally join her brothers.

Sam rifled through a big box of knickknacks in hopes of finding something 'important.' His idea of important was anything that could be used in summoning rituals or spells. So far, he just found snow globes and figurines. One figurine was in the shape of an angel holding a child in its arms. He huffed at it. Angels weren't really like that. He turned it over to look at the bottom. It had an engraving of 'Cross Rose Porcelain' written on it.

Frankie wasn't looking for something important. Instead, she was looking through the things to take in their former glory. She had been wrist deep in a tub of old VHS tapes. She picked up one tape in particular. It was a Ray Stevens: Comedy Video Classics tape. She lightly snorted. That guy was hilarious. She remembered lying on the old carpet in front of the fireplace as a kid and watching it. Good times.

She suddenly got a chill. She first thought it was from the memories, but she later realized it was due to some sort of draft. Her skin prickled up in goosebumps. She looked around for the racks of clothing and found her mom's old lavender cardigan. She smiled and slid it on.

Dean was sifting through a box of books. He was initially trying to look for spell books or anything that would warrant concern if a civilian had them, but _every_ book was like that. Frankie wasn't lying when she said she studied monsters. Every book he picked up had something to do with some kind of creature. He shook his head. She was doomed from the start.

However, one book was not about cryptids. He picked it up. It looked plain enough. It had a dark, leather cover and a latch around it. He unhooked it and read the first page.

 _You don't know who I am, but my name is Frankie Pearce. But really, you don't need to know who I am. Because you are a journal, and I am a human. Your job is not to know who I am. Besides that point, the day I've had has been dreadful._

Dean's face split into a half-smirk. _'Well, I'll be damned,'_ he thought. _'Frankie's diary.'_ After glancing over his shoulder to ensure she wasn't looking, he looked at the top where the date was plastered. _3-16-01_ was written in thick, black ink. That would put her about twelve or thirteen years old. He flipped about halfway through the diary and read the entry.

 _It's been a while, but in this day and age, I need to vent or I'll perish. My life has not been easy. I'm a sixteen year old who has no ambition. I live in a small town in a small county in a too southern state. I sometimes wish I could escape this life and be born someone else. Perhaps I'll be like my father, brave and resilient. But that's a story for another time. Still, it would be nice to live a life fuller than my own._

Dean's smirk fell. His eyes scanned the last few sentences over and over again. So her determination to be a hunter wasn't a new thing. She really was doomed from the start. He flipped a few pages farther and read the page.

 _I'm alone. Day in and day out, I find myself in the house by myself with no one to keep me company but my books. And you, of course. You've yet to let me down. Nonetheless, loneliness crushes me like a jagged rock underneath an even bigger jagged rock. I know I wasn't meant for this life. Somewhere out in the vast multiverse, another Francine Pearce is having a way better life than I am._

Geez, did this girl ever have a good time? Dean supposed her civilian life wasn't as great as he thought it was. He knew it wasn't perfect, but he had known it was far better than his childhood. However, reading about her loneliness and hopeless wishes for a better life, it was almost similar.

Dean shook his head and skipped ahead to the last entry that was made in the diary.

 _She was gone. Though she lived on in the raw memories in my mind and in the many pictures that her friends and family left, she now existed as a granite tombstone with 'Sierra Love Pearce' etched into it, preceding the date of her death which I refused to look at any further._

Oh no. He knew exactly who she was referring to. That page must've been written when her mother died. Reading further down the entry confirmed it, as well as filled in the blanks of other inquiries he'd had.

 _So after I have my fill of gazing down to the fresh grave at my feet, I will go home and pack my bags. I will be leaving the not-so comfort of my now empty home to go out and find my father. Without my mom or any other immediate relatives near me, I will surely die in waiting for a transplant when the day comes for my kidneys to fill with cysts. That is unless I find my next of kin._

Dean closed his eyes. He didn't need to read the rest. He lived it. He shut the journal and stuffed it down under the other books so it didn't look like he'd read through her private diary.

"Hey, Frankie," Sam called from the back of the unit. Dean and Frankie looked over to him as he held up a small clay statuette. It was a sickly gray color with clumpy limbs. "Is this what I think it is?" he asked with an amused undertone to his words.

Frankie stepped closer to take a closer look and took it from his hand. She let out a soft snort as she rotated it in her hand. "Uh, yeah. It's a clay wendigo. I made it in third grade."

The man shook his head as Dean let out a silent chuckle. "You would've fit right in with us," Sam mused as he went back to rummaging.

His words weakened Frankie's smile and Dean noticed it. Her eyes turned down as she placed the statuette on a nearby box. She turned around to continue her search.

Dean didn't know one hundred percent why her smile fell, but after reading her diary, he had a pretty good guess. Sam's remark reminded her of the life she could've had if John knew she existed. Dean was beginning to wish he'd known, too.

Frankie bit down the sorrowful thoughts as she closed the tub of videos and moved onto another section of the hoard. She found her mother's old jewelry. She was surprised no one took them to pawn them off. Many of her neighbors would have if they had the chance.

She picked up a small locket from the bottom of the tin. It was just the locket, no chain. The metal on it was cheap, as most of the shininess had rubbed off to reveal the dull metal underneath. It was slightly hard to unclasp, but it finally clicked open to reveal a tiny picture on the inside. She bit her tongue hard to keep her eyes from misting over. The picture was of her, just a toddler wearing a sunbonnet, sitting in her mother's lap, the beach in Mobile creating the backdrop.

She looked up to dry the primitive tears in her ducts. With a soul deep sigh, she returned her eyes to the trinket.

A noisy thud sounded just next to her. Her head snapped down to the concrete where the noise came from. There on the ground was the wendigo statuette. Her brows narrowed. She hadn't been near the box it was on. Neither had her brothers. She pointed her sights their way. It seemed like they didn't notice.

She reached down and picked up the clay model. She turned it upside down. The bottom was flat. It shouldn't have fallen over, but oh well. She placed it on its side on the box next to her. When she returned her gaze to the locket, she decided to keep it. She shoved it into her pocket and continued looking through the tin.

After two hours of searching, Frankie announced to her brothers that they could stop looking through the unit. Nothing in there had seemed to be of any use. After locking up the unit, the three of them made their way out of the fenced area and headed for the Impala. However, Frankie spotted a glistening lake across the street and got another idea.

Instead of stopping to get in the car, she kept walking, stopping at the road and looking both ways, and crossed the street to stand by the lake. Sam and Dean watched as the girl stopped walking and stood still, tucking her hands into her pockets. They shared a quick look, but Dean broke away to follow after her.

The lake was beautiful under the late afternoon sky. The still water reflected the blue blanket above them covered in countless wispy clouds. A flock of birds flew by, a mirror image of them projected on the water's surface. It created a soothing scene, one Frankie desperately needed.

"Everything okay?" Dean muttered from beside her. She had noticed him stopping next to her, but hadn't moved to acknowledge him until he spoke.

She breathed out a long sigh before speaking in an oddly level voice. "I know I hated this place. I shouldn't feel remorse for losing my house, but I do." Her eyes flicked down to the grass in front of her shoes. "It's like the last thing that made me a Pearce finally died."

Dean glanced over to her for a few seconds before looking down to the grass with her, nodding his head. "It sucks, I know. I don't remember our old house that much, but I still miss it." He swallowed down the sour memories that came with it. "But, y'know… a house is just a house. You can't take it with you."

Frankie shook her head. "It still hurts. I spent my life in that place. My mom took me home in a swaddle and I never left. She sacrificed everything for me. All our memories… it's like the last piece of her I had. Now it's gone."

Dean didn't have to look at her to know she had a tear falling down her cheek. He tightened his lips, looking for the right words to say. He lifted his head to look out across the water. "It'll hurt for a long time. Maybe forever, I dunno." Frankie blinked at his words. "But you don't need a house to remember her, y'know. After all, it's just a house."

"Just a house," she mumbled. "Just _my_ house. _Used_ to be my house.

"Hey, c'mon. Chin up. It's not like you're homeless."

"Oh yeah?" the girl sarcastically huffed.

Dean turned his head over to her. "Yeah. Really." She turned her head over to him. "Look, I know this is tough. I know. But you're not alone in this. Okay? You said it yourself, that place was never home for you. And a home is way more important than a house." He pressed his lips together as he turned the rest of his body over to her. She looked over him with glassy eyes under knitted brows. "You got me, Sam, and Bobby. Okay? We're your home. And we're not going anywhere, alright?"

Two tears raced down her face and met at her chin. A quivering smile ever so slowly made itself known. She nodded her head, sniffing as she wiped the wetness from her face. "Alright."

"Alright," Dean repeated, softer this time. He raised a hand to pat her shoulder, but he ended up pulling her close to him, giving her a sideways hug. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, his hand roughly rubbing her arms to shake off her sadness. "C'mon," he said, livening up his voice. "Let's get something to eat. Think we all need a bite."

Frankie gave an aggressive sniff before speaking in a weak voice. "I want pie."

Dean found his smirk once again before guiding her back towards the road. "Let's go get you some pie."

Sam had been watching the exchange from the Impala across the street. He watched everything from the shared glances to the comforting embrace. His chest ached in knowing that he probably would never get to that level of comfort and trust that the two now seemed to share. While he held out a hope that he and Frankie could be that close one day, he had a reputation of not living up to expectations.

Dean and Frankie made their way back to the car and got inside with Sam. When they were all settled, Dean started up the Impala and headed off to the nearby Jackson's Restaurant that they had passed before arriving at the storage utility.


	24. Chapter 23 - Normal

**A/N: Surprise Mid-Week Bonus Chapter! I hope this makes up for my previous absence. And as always, thank you guys for favorites, follows, and reviews!**

 **Update (2/11/19): Omg I am SOOOOO SORRY! This week has been insanely crazy and all over the place. I had an interview for a job this weekend and I've been doing nothing but worrying over it and the up and coming result. I WILL get this chapter posted as soon as I possibly can. Please bear with me as I finish the chapter and you will have it very soon. Thank you all!**

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By the time they got out of the restaurant with satisfied stomachs, the sun had set below the horizon which colored the sky into a beautiful image. The last fading fragments of orange were being erased from view as a deep indigo splashed above them. The bottoms of the clouds shimmered with pink hues, reflected from the sun that once was.

Dean whistled as his eyes pointed to the sky. "I gotta say… this place sure does come with a view." Frankie smiled at his point, turning her head around to view the waxing gibbous moon shining brighter than the stars.

"Yeah. I guess it does." A sudden yawn clawed its way up her throat and she muffled it with a fist. "I could go to sleep right now if I had a pillow."

"Yeah, I guess we should hit the hay. We got a big day tomorrow." At that, Dean led Sam and Frankie to the Impala and settled in, soon heading to Alden Biddick's house. During dinner, Frankie had relayed the conversation she'd had with Vera, including the mention that they had a free place to stay that night.

They turned on the dirt road that had led to Frankie's old house. She looked down at her lap as they passed it. They kept driving down a dark dirt road with spiny trees arching over it, the only source of light coming from the two headlights attached to the car. It created a rather creepy atmosphere.

"Hey, Franks," Dean spoke from the front. She hummed in response. "This Biddick guy. He's not, like… all Texas chainsaw, is he?"

"Alden? Nah. He's a good guy. Least from what I remember."

Dean nodded, but he still kept his cautioned instinct on deck until the darkness of the road ended. Light finally seeped from somewhere other than the car. The lightness came from a light post and the windows of a huge, two story house up a small inclined hill.

Sam and Dean gazed in awe at the seeming luxury in a poor atmosphere. Dean was the first to react to the sight. "I thought you said these people were… well, I guess you didn't say they were poor, but-"

"You didn't expect an actual nice house out here?" Frankie filled in with a light smile.

"Well… yeah. No offense," Sam answered.

"None taken," Frankie uttered, voice going from amused to suspicious fast. The cause was the sight of multiple cars lining the road and driveway. The Biddick's might have been comfortable, but not that comfortable. That could only mean one thing…

"Oh shit."

"What?" Dean grunted, alert to any trouble she noticed.

"Shit, shit, _shit_. She said a get-together, but I didn't think _that_ kind of get-together!"

"What are you talking about? What do you mean?"

"Ugh. Might as well get this over with."

Frankie exited the parked car, her brothers following after her. They caught up to her at the driveway. "Frankie, what the hell's going on? Is it something we should be worried about?"

"Yes. Just… ugh! You'll see. Just prepare yourself, okay? Things might get ugly."

Sam and Dean furrowed their brows at each other, already coming up with an escape plan if things got hairy. With a final deep huff, Frankie walked up the large, well-lit porch and rang the doorbell. There as a small pause as they waited for someone to answer the door. Then finally the moment came.

The door swung open, the bright lights momentarily blinding the three, but they recovered fast to see a bald man on the chubby side, a goatee bristling his face. Not two seconds later, that goatee stretched with the wide grin that sprouted on his face.

"Frankie 'Lane!" the man shouted, his arms spread wide in a premature hug.

"Hi, Mr. Biddi-," she started, before she was engulfed in a crushing bear hug. She attempted to reciprocate the gesture, but failed.

"Ah'm so glad yer okay. You don't know how worried I was about you, gal!"

"I can… get a good i-idea," the girl struggled out. Breathing was always difficult with Alden's hugs. He finally pulled away, stepping back to look her over.

"Lemme get a look at you. Aw, yer hair's gotten longer."

"Yeah. It grows. It's sorta its favorite thing," she half joked. The man leaned back, letting out a hearty laugh. She forced out a smile, but it was hard when all she wanted to do was pout.

"Well, don't just stand out there," he said, now able to talk. "Come inside. The game's about to start soon. We were just gettin' ready to eat."

"You haven't eaten yet?" she asked, voice indicating panic. Sam and Dean didn't miss it.

"No. Yer just in time. C'mon."

Frankie's legs agreed with her and refused to move, but Dean's shoulder nudged her forward. She had to comply with him, so she reluctantly walked inside. "Y'know, Mr. Biddick, we just ate so we should just head on up. We're pretty tired, so-"

"Oh hush up. You can stay fer just one slice'a Vera's blueberry crunch c'ain't ya?"

"Uh, no thanks."

"Or one'a Carol's pies? She dabbled with a new recipe fer the occasion."

"Excuse me. You said pie, right?" Dean asked, stepping forward. Frankie slapped him in the back of the arm, lips pressed roughly together in a nasty glower. He shrugged it off as Alden looked over to him.

"Oh yeah. We got at least eight."

After the older man walked to the kitchen, Dean looked as if he had just been flashed by a busty woman. He smirked back at Sam and Frankie and quirked his brows. "I'm gunna follow him."

" _Dean_. _No_. That's _not_ a good _idea_."

"C'mon, Franks. Cut this guy some slack. He doesn't seem bad. Plus, pie."

Frankie tried again to stop him, but her words were mute on his ears. She knew he was about to walk into something he would later regret, so she followed after him to make sure he avoided the right people.

Sam, Dean, and Frankie entered the dining room where every other guest was. They stood in the large room, all gazing at the new entries. Dean nodded to the guests with a smile as Sam ignored the older woman leaning a little too close to him. He avoided her raised eyebrows and small smirk, a look that had just been on his brother's face.

"If everyone can gather 'round so they can hear me," Alden announced, standing in the center of the large dining room.

"What's going on?" Dean whispered, leaning down to Frankie who quickly shushed him. He stood back up with a curious frown, looking at Alden who continued.

"I'd like to just say what an absolute blessin' it is to have y'all here tonight. It's an absolute blessin'." Many of the guests nodded their head and agreed. "And… I would also like to say what a blessin' it is to have our Frankie back with us." The girl stifled down her discomfort with an awkward smile as every face pointed her way. "As y'all know, we thought we'd lost her. But God has answered our prayers and delivered her back to us. I couldn't be happier to have her back."

"Jesus fuck," she mumbled behind a tight smile.

"Lord knows we were distraught when we discovered her missin', but seein' her here tonight gives us hope in-"

"Alden, kick off's in ten minutes," a phantom voice spoke from the crowd.

"Oh, Lord. Yer right. Let us pray." With that declaration, the entire room bowed their head and closed their eyes, including Frankie.

She wasn't religious herself, but she knew what would happen if the others saw her not praying. With that in mind, she opened her eyes up to her brothers to find them not bowing. She nudged both of them with her elbows. They narrowed their eyes down to her, and she aggressively motioned for them to follow.

Dean leaned back down to her. "Franks, I'm not really the praying type."

"Just _do it_. Trust me," she hissed. He leaned back up with a sigh. He looked around awkwardly before finally closing his eyes, but not bowing. Frankie snapped her head over to Sam, who quickly mirrored Dean when faced with her scowl. Finally, she bowed when Alden started.

"Dear God, we thank you for all the gifts and blessin's you've bestowed on us. We don't deserve your love or your kindness. We hope you'll bless this food we're about to eat, and hope that you'll watch after those of us who couldn't be here tonight. We also thank you so much for the gift of Frankie you've given us. Just when we thought we lost her, you've brought her back in our lives. No act will prove how much we thank you for that."

Despite knowing the consequences, Frankie opened her eyes. She looked down to the floor. Even though no eyes were pointed her way, she felt the unease as if a thousand pairs were on her.

"We thank you for the men who are about to play for our entertainment, and hope you will allow victory for our respectable team. In your name we pray, Amen."

The entire room and Frankie echoed 'Amen', all except Dean and Sam, of which Dean said it too late and Sam didn't say at all, opening his mouth but missing the chance. Dean received only a few glances, but he played them off with a tight grin.

As if 'Amen' was code for 'get your ass to the kitchen as quickly as possible', the crowd hurried to the next room like a flock of herded sheep to dig into dinner. Of course, Sam, Dean, and Frankie had already eaten, so the only logical thing to do would be to go right on upstairs to rest for the night, but just when the girl made a move to retreat, Dean made a move to follow the heard.

"Dean!" she called after him, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket, He looked back at her with a raise brow. "You've already eaten!"

He turned back around, lightly wrapping his hand around her wrist, with a knowledgeable smirk. "A little word from the wise," he spoke, tearing her hand from his jacket. "Never pass up free food." And then he was off, blending in with the crowd of southern strangers all with the same goal in mind. In no time, Dean was gone from sight.

"This is bad," Frankie muttered under her breath.

"How so?" Sam spoke next to her. "Worst case scenario he'll just bitch and moan about how stuffed he is."

"That's not what I mean," Frankie warily corrected, sending her brother a cautious look. "I would advise y'all not tell anyone your relation to me. Just for your own benefit."

Sam's expression took a turn for the concerned. "Why? Are we not… welcome here?"

Frankie twisted her tongue around in her mouth for a few seconds, narrowing her eyes on the shrinking crowd. "No. John isn't." She walked forward to enter the kitchen, leaving Sam to dwell on that cryptic statement.

Frankie weaved her way through the crowd to find Dean. On her way, she was stopped by a few passing locals who gave their condolences of her mother's loss and their relief that she was safe. They were all lies. These people didn't care about her or her mom. They pretended to care to feel like they did something good in the eyes of God. That's not to say they _all_ did, like Vera and Alden, but many of them certainly masked their intent.

After some uncomfortable squeezing, Frankie finally entered the kitchen and scanned the room for her brother. When she finally spotted him, he was, to no surprise, piling on his plate with anything that looked edible. From where she stood, she could see potatoes, chicken, ham, mac and cheese, turkey, a hot dog, beef tips, meatballs, and fried okra. She didn't think he was the okra type, but maybe the reason it was on his plate was because he didn't know what it was. After all, it was deep fried to a crisp, no green in sight.

There was no getting to him, so the best she could do was stand off to the side and keep an eye on him. There was no stopping the men who gave passing lines to him and there was no stopping the girls who eyed him with interest, but she kept an eye out for those who would be most concerned with his identity, and then she'd swoop in to rescue him.

In the meantime, Sam stayed in the dining room and sat himself down at one of the many tables that were set up, ignoring the people who wandered in to seat themselves. He gazed around the large room, observing the photos hung on the wall. From the top near the ceiling, there were old paintings and grainy photos, surely of ancestors. And going down towards the bottom, photos got progressively newer. This place must have been standing for at least a century. With that, his hunter mind when into action, wondering if the house could be haunted.

As soon as his brain seeped into that thought, two women sat down at the table he was at. The two women were obviously older than him, around their forties or fifties, and sat on each side of him. They both wore smirks on their faces that made Sam stiffen with discomfort.

"Hi," one of them said. "You from around here?" she drawled. Sam gave a tight lipped smile in an attempt to be polite.

"Uh, no. First time here."

"That so," the other noted with interest. Sam swallowed hard as she leaned in closer. "City boy?"

"Uh. No. Not really."

"You came here with Frankie, did ya?" the first woman, the blonde, asked, a hint of curiosity to her voice. Sam nodded, trying to avoid talking while the brunette to his left barely brushed against him. "You, like… her boyfriend?"

"No," he squawked when the other woman pressed her leg against his own. He yanked it away as fast as they touched. "Close friend."

He probably should have played it up like he was her boyfriend, because the satisfied smirks the women wore surely meant a bad time. "Well that's a shame. A handsome man like yerself don't have any business bein' without a fine woman on his arm."

Sam's lips pressed as hard as they could together. He wanted to yell for Frankie, or at least get up and flee, but his damn polite nature refused for him to make a scene, no matter how uncomfortable the apparent cougars were making him.

"Marla, Jolene, you leave that boy alone!" an older woman yelled from across the room. Sam and the women looked over to see a woman of at least seventy years march over and shoo away the women much to their reluctance. Sam was overcome with relief, nearly thanking the woman. "Ah am so sorry 'bout them. They never let up with boys your age." Sam merely sat, not sure how to respond, especially when the old woman scowled down to him. "Well, hun, ain't ya gunna eat nothin'?"

"Uh, no ma'am. I'm not hungry."

"Not hungry?" she shouted, loud enough to echo. The room then went dead quiet, all others in the room gazing over to the man at the table without a plate of food in front of him. His fight or flight reflexes were tingling, but he could pick one to settle on. "No such thing as not hungry. Just in between meals," the woman declared before turning her head towards the kitchen. "Fey, come get this boy somethin' to eat!"

"Oh, no! Really, I just ate. I don't need anything," he urged onto deaf ears. Almost literally. But despite his reluctance, a hoard of blue hairs strolled towards his table, a plate in each of their hands, with determined glints in their eyes. All of a sudden, he wished the cougars would come back.

So far so good. The room had cleared up quite a bit since the men and a few women piled into the living room to watch kick off and the rest were making their way into the dining room. Dean piled his plate up with all he could fit on it and eventually made his way over to stand next to Frankie. The girl looked him over, shaking her head with a helpless smile.

"I can't believe you."

Dean shrugged, placing a free hand over his chest. "I'm just being a good house guest. It would be rude to not partake in the hospitality of others."

Frankie gave a deadpan look at him. "You're gunna make yourself sick."

"So?"

The girl snorted at her brother. Her head snapped to the side, however, when an ungodly screech wailed from the hallway attached to the kitchen. Dean leaned over to check it out with her only to witness three dogs, each varying in size and color, being chased by six children, also of varying sizes and ages, but not one older than twelve. Dean stared with furrowed brows as the smallest child caught hold of the biggest dog and straddled it like a horse then proceeded to ride it into the living room.

"You kids get those dogs outta here!" a voice yelled from the next room over.

When the entire scene ended, Dean took a few seconds to blink and process what he saw. "Uh…," he began. "Is that normal?"

Frankie smacked her mouth with an oddly calm look on her face. "Yeah." Dean nodded his head, still looking in the direction in which the dogs and children disappeared. "I'm just glad they haven't told me to watch after those little demons. Usually I'd be the one to babysit them while the adults sank into a pit of alcohol and adrenaline." Frankie turned around to the beverage table where she grabbed a red solo cup and poured herself a drink.

"How do you even control that kind of thing?"

"Usually by slipping sedatives into their tea," she explained, raising her own drink before taking a large sip.

"Ah," Dean answered, giving an agreeing nod. He then glanced over to the girl, eyeing the cup in her hands that had a dark brown liquid in it. "That's not-"

"Relax, _Dad_. It's just tea." When he gave a short look of suspicion, she sighed and turned back around, pouring him his own drink. "Here. See for yourself."

Dean placed his fork onto his plate and grabbed the cup with his free hand. He gave it a sniff, looking down into the drink to inspect it, before lifting it to his lips and knocking back a gulp.

A light gag immediately overtook his form. He managed to suppress spitting out the drink by holding the cup to his mouth. "Uh, god! What is that?"

"Like I said. It's sweet tea."

"Sweet my ass! Sweet don't even _begin_ to cover it!" He grimaced down into the red cup, his glare of disgust reflected on the liquid's surface. "Sugar's not even dissolved!"

Frankie didn't even try to suppress her amused laughter. "Here," she chuckled out as she opened the cooler at her feet. She presented an ice cold bottle of beer, ice trickling off the sides like it would in a commercial, and he took it the moment he laid eyes on it.

After a short while to get the taste of the too sweet tea out of his mouth, Dean pressed the conversation forward. "Anyway," he huffed, "Frankie 'Lane?"

Frankie looked over to him, noticing the light teasing glint in his eyes. "Yeah," she breathed out in a small chuckle. "People down here speak too fast to say 'Frankie Elaine' so they made due with a less than clever nickname." Dean nodded his head as he stuffed his face with more food.

"So, um," he came again. "Lemme ask you something. And don't get offended or anything." Frankie raised an eyebrow over to him. "I mean… I don't think that _everyone_ here is poor or something, and I'm _definitely_ not saying you are-"

"You wanna know why Alden's rich," she concluded for him. He gave a lopsided grin as an answer. "He's a mechanic." As expected, Dean sent her a bewildered look.

"No way. There's no way a mechanic can afford this place."

"He can if he owns four garages." Dean blinked and pursed his lips, humming in surprise and agreement.

The conversation naturally faded, leaving Frankie to gaze around the room. The kitchen was mostly empty, which was good considering no one could inquire about her brothers, but then she realized that not both of her brothers were in the room.

"Oh god," she muttered, getting Dean's attention. "Where's Sam?" They both looked around the room and saw no sign of him. "Shit! I left him in the dining room!" she exclaimed while turning out of the kitchen, rushing into the adjacent room to rescue her brother.

Frankie felt genuine fear when she laid eyes on Sam. He was buried in blue hairs offering up their food to him on enlarged spoons. One old woman was scrubbing a napkin on his shirt to get a stain out. One woman was raking her fingers through his hair. And the look on his face was nothing short of uncomfortable. Frankie rushed to his aid.

Frankie shoved her way through the blockade of elderly women to get to her frazzled brother in the center of it all. "Okay, ladies! I'm sorry, but I'm gunna hafta steal him from y'all, okay? Okay." She didn't waste a second in grabbing Sam's arm and pulling him away from the women. They griped and tried stopping her, but she was too fast for them.

Frankie weaved through the tables and standing people until they were finally clear. Frankie led him into the kitchen, only letting him go when both were fully passed the threshold.

"Sam, I am so sorry. I thought you were right behind me."

"Uh, yeah. I really should've been," the man answered, obviously unnerved from the situation. "Is that normal? For them to… attack people like that?" He leaned over to see into the dining room. "Felt like I was in a primate exhibit."

"Yeah, I'm… ugh, they do that whenever someone new shows up to one of these things. It's like they're trying to _force_ the culture down their throats."

"I can see that," he breathed out, leaning back into the kitchen. "What, uh… what is this thing?"

"Alabama football, a cesspool of testosterone and intolerable passive aggressiveness." Sam grimaced. "Exactly. If we can just make it upstairs without anyone else seeing us-… wait." Frankie stepped further into the kitchen, looking around the entire room. "Where's Dean? Oh, dammit! Where'd he go?!"

"Where'd you leave him?"

"Right here! God, I can't keep this up! We need to get out of here as quick as possi-"

"Frankie, dear!" a squeaky voice chimed from behind her. Frankie turned around only to have something forced into her arms. It took a full two seconds to register the fact that it was a toddler that was now in her hands. She snapped her eyes up to the angular face of the young blonde woman. "Could you watch him for me, please? Thanks, hun. Glad to have you back!"

And then she was gone as fast as she came. Sam felt like he had whiplash from the whole interaction. He wanted to ask if that was normal, but he found himself unable to say anything to the girl when she revolved back around, a steely death glare plastered on her face. His brows shot up at the new look to her.

"Go. Find. Dean." Her voice was commanding, no nonsense. Sam nodded as quickly as he fled, off to find where his brother ran off to.

The minute Sam was out of sight, the baby, no older than a year old, began to fuss and cry over the absence of his mother. Frankie groaned as she adjusted the child on her shoulder and patted his back, slowly walking around the kitchen and offering half-assed suggestions to calm down.

"That's a touchdown for Alabama!"

The packed room burst into rancorous cheers, drinks being elevated in the air and food flying from plates and mouths. An arm from an unknown, uncaring man was wrapped around Dean's shoulder as he cheered with him. As soon as the moment passed, the room was quiet, waiting for the next play of the game.

In all honesty, Dean had no idea what was going on. Of course, he knew a touchdown was a good thing, but he just cheered when the others cheered, booed when the others booed, and drank when… well when he was thirsty. Eventually, he thought he had the game figured out.

"Takes it back, makes the pass, catches it! Takes it to the end zone and-! Touchdown Tigers!"

"Yeah!" Dean lifted his beer in a premature cheer, not realizing yet that the crowd he was in was instead booing. He quickly changed it to a resounding, "Boo!" before anyone took much notice of his mistake. Apparently the Tigers were the orange team. It made enough sense.

There was a timeout in the game in which cheerleaders in revealing red uniforms danced for the camera. Dean was digging it until a hand clutched his shoulder. He turned to see two men holding their bottles up to him. With a grin, he tapped his bottle against their own before drinking. He didn't know if it was normal to do that at a timeout or not, but he complied anyway.

"Hey, man," the chubbier man with the beard spoke, "who are you anyway?"

Dean leaned closer to the two so that he could hear them over the chattering in the room. "Dean," he greeted holding a hand out to them. They shook his hand with energetic vigor. "I came here with Frankie."

"Aaron," the skinnier one greeted.

"Jim," the other one added. "You her boyfriend?"

"Nah. I'm her brother."

Apparently that was cause for confusion. Or concern? Whichever it was caused the grins on the men's faces to fall. "Sierra didn't have no boys," Aaron pointed out.

"Oh. Yeah. I'm her dad's son. So, I'm her half-brother."

And that was apparently even more cause for concern. Jim looked around to make sure no one was listening in, but no one was. The game had started back up. "So… John Winchester's your dad?"

Dean was taken back by his question. How the hell did he know his name? "Uh, yeah. How do you know that?"

"Everyone here knows who he is," Aaron answered. "Everyone knows the whole tale of Sierra's runaway lover." Dean didn't know how to feel about that nickname, but he let it slide. "Town this small, word gets around. No secrets 'round here."

"And it's easy to hear about a goddang grave robber comin' to town, ain't it."

Not only was Dean's glare caused by the title he gave his father, but it was also fueled by the spiteful sound of his voice when he said it. "Grave robber?"

"Yeah. You don't know?"

Aaron nudged Jim's arm, gaining his attention. "He probably don't know his daddy either."

"Oh yeah."

Dean made no move to correct them.

"See," Jim continued, "like twenty years ago or somethin' these grave robberies happen, right? Everyone's stumped. But when this newcomer starts showin' up to all these crimes scenes dressed like some hot shot, things get even worse."

"Lots a' rumors came up that _he_ was the grave robber. And he was usin' his state ranger get up as a _disguise_."

Dean stared coldly at the two idiots who were either stupid or drunk enough to spew conspiracy theories about a complete stranger's father, but he made no move to stop them, wondering how much he could milk out of them. "Wow. That's really something. Was anything proven?"

"Naw," Jim grunted, taking a drink. "When things got hairy, words started spreadin', Sierra snuck 'im outta town 'fore anyone could toss 'im jail."

"Three years later? More grave robberies start up in New Orleans. What does that tell ya?"

Dean quirked his eyebrows, looking down at his bottle in his hand. "Tells me not enough happens in this town to keep everyone's noses in their business."

"Hell yeah!" Aaron shouted, raising his bottle in a whoop. Jim joined him. Dean did not.

"So Frankie's mom liked this guy, huh."

"Oh yeah. Like, a lot. And he liked her, too. Else he wouldn't have come back."

Dean's brows narrowed deeper. "He came back?"

"Yeah. Like… three weeks later? Alden said he helped him change his tire when he popped it in a pothole. He was drivin' some sort of… oh, what kind of car did he say?"

"Mustang?"

"Nah, it weren't that."

"Why'd he come back?" Dean asked, quickly changing the subject. "Did he rob more graves?"

"Naw," Jim sighed, seeming almost disappointed. "Else we woulda kicked his ass."

"Alden said he visited Sierra fer a day 'fore he left fer good the next day. We never had a grave robbery since."

"Still think he did it. Wonder where that cowardly bastard ran off to."

"Good thing. Last thing we need is another freak 'round town." Aaron then looked to Dean with a half-assed apologetic glance. "No offense."

Dean was seconds away from saying something he might have regretted, but he missed his chance when Alabama made another touchdown. Jim and Aaron cheered with the rest of the room, but Dean did not join in the festivities.

"Dean," a familiar voice sounded behind him. He whipped around to find Sam, a relieving sight. He immediately made his way over to him and followed him out of the room. When they were out of immediate range of the cheering crowd, Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder and turned him around.

"Okay, so apparently this town is _anti-Dad_ ," Dean snapped.

"What? What do you mean?"

"The case he had down here? Everyone's apparently heard about it. And they blame him for it. Now I get that happens all the time. I mean the amount of times _we_ were blamed for stuff-"

"Okay, so?" Sam hurried along.

"Not just two guys blame him, the _whole town_ does. He's, like, front page here. And everyone here knows about him and Frankie's mom getting it on." Dean visibly shuddered. "Dad sex. Gross."

"Crap," Sam sighed. Dean looked up at him with furrowed brows, cocking his head in a question. "Frankie told me not to mention that we were Dad's kids." Dean's head jerked back, a scowl now pointed up at his brother.

"And you didn't think to tell me this?"

"I got attacked by old ladies trying to force feed me! I only got away because Frankie rescued me!" Sam was momentarily taken out of his excuse by the smirk and muffled laugh of Dean. "What?"

"You got attacked by old ladies?" he chuckled. Sam rolled his eyes with a sigh, leaning back in exasperation.

"Shut up." Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "Was there anything else?"

"Yeah," Dean continued, seriousness reclaiming his features. "The guys I talked to said Dad came back to see Frankie's mom three weeks after the case."

Sam waited for more, but when none came, his eyebrows lifted. "So?"

" _So_ , Frankie said her mom told her Dad only stayed for a few days and then she never saw him again."

Sam looked off to the side in thought before looking back down at Dean. "You think she lied?"

"Guess so."

"Well… that's fine then. He probably came back to… _y'know_."

"Okay, yeah. I _get_ that."

"Then what's the problem?"

"If Frankie's mom kept a detail like that hidden from her, what else do you think she kept from her?" Sam's face showed that things were finally clicking in his skull. "I mean the fact that Dad actually came back…"

Sam pressed his lips together, hiding what he wanted to say before he actually went through with it. "Maybe… maybe Dad just liked her. I mean, a hunter never hits the same town twice, right? Maybe he made an exception for her. Maybe he… had feelings for-"

"Sam."

"Well maybe he did. That's all I'm saying. Don't get mad at me for not thinking there's some sort of conspiracy going on here." Dean walked further into the next room. Sam followed him. "Mom had been gone for five years, Dean. Maybe Dad wanted to have something more again."

"Sam. I'm only gunna say this once. _Drop it_." Sam shut his mouth with a firm frown under a knowing gaze. "Now where's Frankie? I need a freakin' breather."

Sam sighed, looking up into the kitchen, but there was a problem that they were faced with. Now Frankie wasn't where he left her. The kitchen was empty. "Crap."

* * *

He had finally stopped fussing. He now lay on her shoulder, chubby cheek pressed against her flannel shirt. Frankie stopped her humming and patting to check on him. He was awake, but calm.

"That all it takes, huh?" she asked the baby. "A few pats on the back, a song hummed next to your ear… that's all it takes to calm you down." Frankie walked around the corner of the porch, slowly strolling across the creaking wood under her feet. "Wish it was that simple," she sighed. "Nowadays, none of that stuff works. You fuss, you cry, but no one comes along to tell you it'll be okay and mean it. I mean for you life is easy. You just gotta eat, sleep, play, laugh, cry, and carry on."

Frankie stopped her walking. She turned out towards the moonlit lawn out passed the porch's railing. "Nope. That won't work for me. My problems are little too big to fix like that, y'know? I guess I shouldn't complain too much, though. I mean, half my problems are my own fault. But the other half isn't in my control either."

Frankie went quiet, staring out into the dark world beyond Alden's house. Her eyes drifted up to the sky, to the Heavens. To Heaven.

She tore her eyes away. She turned around, spotting a rocking chair, and sat herself down. "So… that leaves me with a problem. Who am I madder at? Myself, or the universe?" The baby squirmed with a little grunt of frustration. Frankie adjusted him and rubbed his back again. "Yeah, me too, buddy. Questions like that'll drive you mad. Luckily you won't have to worry about that for a while. Hopefully ever."

Frankie closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair as she rocked it slowly back and forth. The warm night air and faint chirping crickets gave her a soothing feeling inside her that she didn't know she could feel anymore.

"Little word of advice. Don't mess with angels. If you can help it, anyway. Things just get too complicated. I mean, look at me. Somehow I'm important to Heaven? Now how am I supposed to react to that? I'm the least capable person to take on whatever responsibility they have planned for me. Believe me. But… maybe I'd feel better about the whole thing if I only knew what they had planned. I'd feel a helluva lot better, tell you the truth. You wouldn't have any idea would you?"

Frankie knew the baby wouldn't answer, but that didn't stop her from waiting for an answer anyway. She gazed down at the back of the now sleeping child. Her chest gave a slow sigh, her eyes drifting back up to the stars. "You wouldn't happen to have the answer yet, would you, Castiel?"

The stars twinkled, the clouds flew by, the crickets chirped, but she didn't receive an answer.

"Frankie?"

The girl twisted her head in the direction of the front door. It had opened, a familiar voice drifting out of the house. Suddenly, the long haired image of Sam came clear from behind the door. "Over here," she quietly announced, carefully rising from the rocking chair. She continuously checked on the child to make sure he was still asleep.

Dean made an appearance behind his brother. His eyes narrowed on the baby in Frankie's arms. "Where'd you get a baby?"

She held up a finger as the baby stirred slightly on her shoulder, but he remained asleep against her. "Not important," she whispered.

"Alright, Franks, "Dean quietly spoke. "I'm pretty partied out. Where're the guest rooms?"

Frankie motioned her head for them to follow her before walking passed them. She led them inside the house, but she stopped when Alden made an appearance. "Hey, y'all. Enjoyin' yerselves?"

"Um, actually we were heading upstairs to get some rest," Frankie spoke for the three of them.

"Aw, no y'all ain't. C'mon and watch the game! I insist."

"No, Alden, I think we're heading up. We've had a really long day."

"You just got here! Don't tell me you're clockin' out already."

"Yeah, we-… ugh, could you take him? Please?" When the baby woke up and began getting fussy again, Frankie gently unclasped him from her shoulder and handed him off to Alden. As if that one gesture knocked some sense into him, Alden finally saw how exhausted the girl was.

"Ah, of course. Y'all go on upstairs. I'll take care of him. But if y'all get hungry, we got plenty of food down here."

Frankie gave a halfhearted agreement before she motioned for her brothers to follow her. They climbed up the stairs, already noticing how much quieter it was on the second floor. The resounding yells were still heard loud and clear, but they were tolerable.

"So, what do y'all think so far?" Frankie asked with a knowing smirk. They both gave groans of differing intensity.

The girl led them into a guest room with two beds. It was usually used for kids, hence the overflowing box of toys and cartoon posters on the walls, but Sam and Dean were honestly too fried to care. After making sure they were all set, Frankie rubbed her temples to stifle her new headache.

"Alright. I'll be in the next room over. If any kids come in here and give y'all trouble, come get me. Many of them are scared of me."

Sam and Dean let out light snorts in response. "Should we know why?" Dean asked.

Frankie opened her mouth to respond, but her words were stopped. She thought about it before shaking her head. "No. Night." Her brothers said goodnight with looks of amusement and light concern.

* * *

Despite how tired Sam and Dean were, they couldn't fall asleep. The constant shouting of either cheers or jeers prevented them from drifting into the dream state they wished they could reach. Sam even made the suggestion that they move to a motel for the night. Free or not, that place made it hard to do any actual sleeping. That is except for Frankie, who could barely be heard snoring through the wall.

But finally the moment came where the chattering from below slowly quieted down. It was hours later, but eventually the house became nearly silent. The game must have been over and the others must have gone home.

However, even though the house was quiet, Sam and Dean were passed the tired stage. They had been keeping busy, discussing the developments in the apocalypse and researching possible cases.

Now unable to fall asleep, Sam became thirsty and decided to go downstairs for a drink. When he voiced his decision to Dean, he decided to tag along, too. By the time they made it to the kitchen, they heard light conversation. They at first thought about retreating back upstairs – worried it might be old women or drunken idiots – but they were caught before they could.

"Hi, boys!" Alden greeted with a small wave of his hand. Now out in the open, Sam and Dean walked further into the room to find Alden as the only one in there. They were sure they had heard him talking to someone. "Nah, sweetie. I was talkin' to Frankie's friends." They now noticed that he was talking to his phone on speaker. "Y'all need anything?" the man asked kindly.

"Oh, no. We just came down for a drink," Sam answered.

Alden nodded with a wide gesture to the fridge. "Help yerselves. We got plenty. Beers in the bottom shelf, soda's on the door, and tea's at the top." Dean shuddered at the mention of tea and headed for the beer.

"How was the second half?" a woman's voice piped up from the phone.

"Oh, darlin', it was somethin'! They nearly had us in the fourth quarter, but we fought back at the very last minute. It was such a close game, hun. Wish you coulda saw it."

"Me, too," the woman, presumably his daughter, said in a disappointed voice.

"How's Tallon?" Alden asked, voice less chipper.

"He's okay. Got quite a knot on his head, but he'll be fine. Last time I let him ride those dogs." Sam looked over at Dean, a confused look on his face at the woman's words. Dean merely nodded, having seen it for himself. "Do you need me to come over? Help you clean up?"

"Nah, darlin' I got it."

"Dad, you can't do that all by yourself. You'll hurt your back again. I'm comin' over."

"Vera-"

"We'll help," Sam suggested, gathering the man's attention. Dean had sent him a glare, but masked it before Alden took notice.

"Oh, no. That's very kind of y'all, but I cain't ask y'all to do that."

"You're letting us stay here for free. It's the least we could do."

Alden's face spit into a huge grin as he nodded his head. "You boys're somethin' else. Thank y'all."

Sam nodded as Alden turned back around to talk to his daughter. Now out of the man's sight, Dean slapped Sam's arm, shouting quietly. "C'mon, man! I don't wanna clean this guy's house! It's huge!"

"He's letting us stay here. You know it's the right thing."

Dean didn't want to agree with his brother, but he ultimately huffed and gave in. "I'm not cleaning the dishes!" he whispered before heading off into the living room.

Some time passed with Dean placing bottles, cups, and plates into a trash bag and Sam sweeping the floors around the dining room and kitchen. Alden continued to talk to his daughter on the phone.

"And Cooper kicked it right in the dead center. It was beautiful."

"And it was good?"

"Hell yeah, it was good! You know Cooper! Never misses the upright!"

Sam and Dean had no idea who Cooper was or what an upright was supposed to be, but they simply tried to block out the conversation. That is, until Vera stopped midsentence without any warning.

"Vera?" Alden said. There was no answer. "Vera?!" Sam and Dean were then called to attention, their instincts triggered by the sound of possible danger. "Vera! Answer me!"

"I-I'm okay. I'm okay!" Sam and Dean then breathed out in relief. They didn't feel up to kicking ass that night.

"What happened? The phone go out?"

"No. U-Uh… no."

"Then what was it, hun? Everything okay?"

"Um… Dad, I… I think… I don't know how, but… I thought I just saw someone in the house."

And then their attentions were brought right back to the phone call.

"What? Who?" Alden questioned, his voice growing firm.

"I-I-I don't know. A-A woman? I think? I just saw a woman in the hall and then… I don't know where she went. It was probably nothing."

"I'm comin' over," Alden spoke, his voice firm.

"No, Daddy, please don't. I'm probably just tired."

"I'm _comin' over_."

The man hung up the phone without another word. He walked towards the exit of the kitchen as Sam and Dean shared a knowing look with each other. "Do you need help?" Sam asked the man.

"Nah, boys. You've done so much. I cain't-"

"We'll come with you," Dean said, a no nonsense tone to his words. He didn't leave Alden much room to argue before both he and Sam made their way outside and to the Impala.

They followed Alden's truck down the road to Frankie's old house, already prepping for whatever it might be. Sam tucked the EMF in his pocket as well as a flask of Holy Water. Of course, there was a chance it might just be a home intruder, or her imagination, but they could never be too careful.

When they arrived to the house, Vera and her son were standing on the porch. Alden walked in front of Sam and Dean. "Where's Paul?" Alden asked.

"Out with the boys."

Finally, Sam and Dean approached the shaken girl, her son held closely to her legs. "Where'd you see the woman?" Sam asked Vera.

"In the hallway. In between the bedrooms."

At that, Sam nodded his head at the woman and walked inside with Dean. "Alden, you check around the house. See if she climbed out a window or something." The man nodded and clutched his shotgun firmly in his hand. Really, Dean was just trying to keep him out of the house while he and Sam did their investigation, but it seemed to make him feel helpful.

Once behind the closed front door, Sam and Dean gave each other a glance before Sam brought out the EMF. He extended the antenna, turning it on. The little machine gave a series of whines and screeches as he pointed it around the house.

"You think Frankie's house might be haunted?" Sam asked.

Dean walked into the hallway where Vera said she spotted the stranger. "Maybe. It'd be pretty funny if it was."

"Funny?"

"Yeah. John Winchester's daughter grows up in a house haunted by a ghost? Kind of ironic if you think about it."

A few moments of wordlessness passed as Sam entered the hallway. The whines of the EMF didn't change. "You, uh…," Sam started unsure whether or not he should bring up the point. "You don't think the ghost is… new, do you?"

Dean turned around in the children's room, looking at Sam with a curious expression. "New?"

"Yeah. _New_."

Dean then finally understood what he meant, and his face dropped to a troubled expression. It deepened when Sam pointed the EMF into the very room Dean was inside. The machine wailed with a continuous screech, the red bulbs lighting up like a Christmas tree.

Sam and Dean locked eyes, jaws tightening in realization.

They walked outside to where Vera and her son were. "Hi, uh… Vera, right?" Sam asked.

The woman nodded. "Did you find anyone in there?" she warily asked, holding her son closer to her.

"No. We didn't see anyone. But we do have a few questions for you."

"Uh. Okay?"

"This woman. What did she look like?" Dean asked. Vera switched her gaze between the two men.

"Um. She had… black hair? Maybe brown. It was dark. I didn't really get a good look at her."

"You don't remember any identifiable features?" Sam questioned.

Vera shrugged her shoulders. "It happened so fast."

"Okay. Let me ask you this," Dean added, squinting his eyes in hope that the answer wasn't what he thought it was. "Back when Frankie lived here, whose room was your son's?"

"Um. That was Sierra's room."

Sam and Dean didn't need to look at each other to both understand the problem at hand.

"Why? Is something wrong with his room?"

"No. Everything's fine," Sam lied. "Thank you."

As Alden returned to comfort his daughter, Sam and Dean walked over to the Impala. "Well. This is just great," Dean grunted. Sam pressed his lips together as he thought the same thing. "Looks like we got a case."

"Do you think the ghost… is who we think it is?"

"God, I hope not," Dean breathed out, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets "That's the last thing she needs right now."

"Well… maybe it's not her mom. Maybe there was a ghost who lived there before she died."

"You really think that?"

Sam looked at his brother's skeptical look and sighed. "Honestly? No. But we don't have any solid evidence that it is her either."

"So now what? We start a whole investigation at this house? We leave for Parrish tomorrow."

"I know."

"So how are we handling this?"

"I don't know." Sam and Dean stewed in silence for a few moments, jumbling around for ideas before either of them spoke. "We should get Frankie out of town before we do anything."

"Wait, what?" Dean exclaimed. "No. We need her."

"Need her? Dean, this will destroy her. How do you think she'll react to her _mom_ being a _ghost_?"

"Look, I get that-"

"Do you? 'Cause I don't think you do!"

"Sam, listen. She has the right to know that her mom's spirit is hanging around. What if she figures that out on her own?"

"If we get her out of town then she won't have to."

"Okay," Dean nodded, turning his body towards his brother. "Then what if she figures out we didn't tell her? Hm? What if she figures out we held back the truth from her. You really wanna go down that road again? Do you remember what happened last time?"

Sam tightened his jaw as he turned his body to face him, his voice growing slow and wounded. "Dean… you're wanting Frankie to see her dead mother's ghost with her own eyes. You may not remember how messed up that is, but _I do_." Dean stared hard at his brother. "I wish I could take it back. I wish I never had to go through that. And I'll do _whatever_ it takes to prevent Frankie from going through that pain." Sam saw Dean's jaw clench, the memory of their own mother's ghost still haunting him. "Please don't tell her." When he didn't respond, Sam's voice grew firmer. "Dean, _please_."

" _Alright_ , dammit!" he huffed. "I won't tell her. But don't say I didn't tell you so when she blows up on us for keeping it from her."

"I won't."

With that as the last word, Sam and Dean crawled into the Impala and drove back to Alden's house.


	25. Chapter 24 - Truth

**A/N: I'm so sorry about the delay! I went ahead and shortened the chapter to go ahead and get it out there, but it's still around the usual length. The next chapter is not planned to be far behind. I plan to post it as soon as I'm done instead of waiting for the weekend. Thank you so much for waiting and I hope you enjoy! Also, thanks again for everyone's support with favorites, follows, and reviews! I feel like a jerk if I don't mention that... so thank you all!**

 **Update (3-3-19): Guys, I promise I'm alive. I promise that I'm working on the story. I won't use some sort of excuse like school's been crazy because it really hasn't been for me. Instead, I have had so many issues with the next few chapters that I just can't make a decision on where the chapters should go. I think I have now, though. I'm so sorry about the delay and I will get this damn chapter out as soon as I can. Thank you all for being so patient.**

* * *

Moans of delight circled the small table in the kitchen. As both thanks for assisting him the night before and also due to common courtesy, Alden prepared Sam, Dean, and Frankie a big breakfast. There were the usual fixings: bacon, sausage, glazed ham, and eggs of all kinds of preparations. And then there were things not usually found in every diner at 8 am. Bowls of gooey fried apples and steamy hash brown casserole were nearly empty, as well as the bowl next to them with a weirdly textured substance inside.

"Hey, uh… what is that?" Dean had asked, pointing into the bowl with his fork. Frankie glanced over, her own fork submerged in her mouth, to identify what he was looking at.

With a hum as she removed the utensil from her lips, she returned to her own plate. "Cheese grits."

Dean grimaced at the yellow, curdled contents. "Looks like baby puke."

"Well if you don't want it," Sam spoke from his side, reaching over to grab the entire bowl with both hands. Dean's disgusted expression only deepened when Sam scooped out spoonful after spoonful of the stuff into his own bowl. He tore his eyes away from the sight to shove more ham into his mouth.

After breakfast, Frankie went upstairs to gather their things for the road while Sam helped Alden put away the leftovers. Dean, in the meantime, stepped out onto the porch, hoping to steal a few moments to think.

He thought about their coming mission. The machete was safely inside the Impala and ready for inspection by whoever owned that shop in Parrish. Well… ready for inspection or ready for action, depending on exactly _who_ the owner was.

He also thought about the night before. And how could he not? He and Sam's little investigation proved the house to have some sort of ghost inside Frankie's mom's old room. As much as he didn't want to believe it, he had to face the fact that they would probably have to put Frankie's mom to rest.

Per Sam's annoying instruction, Dean wouldn't say a word to Frankie about it, and even though he thought she had the right to know he had to admit that it would only cause her more grief. She already put her mom to rest. He didn't think she'd be the same if she had to do it again.

Suddenly, a gale of demonic laughter echoed on the other side of the large lawn. Dean walked along the length of the porch to look out towards the road to see what the screaming was all about. Then he saw it. He saw a group of shirtless children throwing clumps of dirt around. But there was a target to their game.

They were throwing clumps of dirt at his car.

"Hey!" he roared. He marched down the stairs and stormed over to the hoard of delinquent children. "Get away from my car!"

The kids didn't listen and continued to chuck clumps of dirt at his car's sheen. The moment one clump exploded against her window with the tiniest ping, Dean clenched his teeth together and snatched his gun from under his jacket. Pointing the weapon to the sky, he fired five warning shots that echoed through the surrounding forest. It did the trick in sending the kids away in a screeching fit.

Dean scowled at their retreating forms. "Freakin' animals." He then turned his attention to his beloved car, walking over and brushing the dirt from her window. "Did they hurt you, Baby?"

"Ah hope you can excuse those kids," Alden spoke as he approached Dean from behind. The man stood up, making it so that it didn't just look like he was embracing his car. "They get restless if they stay inside. This is their way of… well, containin' their attentions."

Dean bit back the glower he wanted to throw the man's way. "Seems like an iPhone could go a long way for them," he halfheartedly spat. Alden ignored the remark and watched as Dean rounded the car, looking for any scratches.

"She's a beaut," the older man noted, crossing his arms while also examining the Impala.

"That she is," Dean agreed.

Alden was quiet for a moment. He stopped his slow pacing when his eyes landed on the back right tire of the vehicle. "Y'know, I saw a car like this many years ago," he said with a slow nod. "Yes. That was back, say… twenty-two or so years ago."

Dean froze. He saw a car just like her because it _was_ her. Those drunks at the party the night before said he changed a tire on the Impala all those years ago, back when Dad was suspected of being a grave robber. Alden didn't think they were connected, did he?

Dean stood up in front of the driver's side with a small chuckle. "Yeah, weird coincidence, I guess." Alden didn't look convinced and, if anything, looked more suspicious than before.

Dean sucked in a breath, ready to dispel any suspicions of a connection they might share before Sam and Frankie made an appearance walking over to the car. It gathered Alden's attention and took him away from the Impala long enough for Dean to duck inside.

Frankie gave Alden a thankful – yet hesitant – hug and Sam shook his hand, receiving another thanks from him in regards to the night before. They then joined Dean in the car, and in no time they were speeding off to Parrish. On the way, however, they inevitably had to drive passed Frankie's old house.

The girl didn't notice the cautioned glances her brothers gave the house as they drove passed.

* * *

Just shy of an hour, they reached Parrish, Alabama. It didn't take long at all to approach Nightshade Avenue and locate their destination. The Impala came to a stop next to the sidewalk in front of the shady building they saw on the website.

' _Willadeene's Original Herbs and Gardening Shoppe_ ' was displayed in curvy, winding letters above the dark green awning. Their eyes, however, were pulled to the hanging sign above the door that had the faded symbol carved into it.

With a collective sigh, the three made their way out of the car and onto the sidewalk. Sam and Dean immediately went to the back of the car and looked around for any bystanders before opening the hidden compartment in the trunk. Sam stuffed salt and Holy Water in his pockets while Dean grabbed the machete and concealed it under his jacket. Frankie eyed it irately. She wondered how long he planned to keep it from her. Following in her brothers' footsteps, she concealed her own revolver in the back of her belt.

They entered the building with a faint chime of the bell on the door. They were immediately hit with a cloud of scents battling for dominance. Herbs and spices filtered through the air as well as the earthy, gritty smell of fresh soil in ceramic pot hanging above them. They all looked around the room. It was empty, nobody behind the register.

Before Sam could make note of the suspicious emptiness of the place, a figure made itself known when it walked through a silky maroon curtain toward the back of the room. Their eyes landed on the image of a dark-skinned woman on the larger side, her hair thick yet short and brushing her cheeks in curvy waves. Around her head was a faded purple ribbon with an exotic flower embroidered on it covering her left eye. Her shoulders were shielded by a flowing, worn shawl on top of a loose black dress.

Frankie's eyes narrowed. She looked the stranger up and down, traced her eyes over every inch of her form. Apparently the symbol at the front of the store wasn't the only thing that felt familiar.

The woman, supposedly the shop's owner, approached the trio with a contented smile mostly pointed at the two tall men in front of her. But that contented smile inverted when her single forest green eye drifted down to Frankie.

This didn't go unnoticed by Sam, Dean, and Frankie, but the girl was the one who felt the greatest confusion over the matter. The look didn't hold any animosity, but it wasn't uncertainty either. If anything, it was surprise. But then… why would she be surprised? It didn't make sense.

The strange woman stood perfectly still as if paralyzed by the sight of the girl. A sudden clash and shatter echoed in the room from a ceramic pot that was previously in the shop keep's hands. Sam and Dean stood in the beginnings of a ready stance, uncertain of the shocked reaction the woman had towards their sister. They stared, borderline glared, at the wide-eyed, gawking expression on her as she slowly rounded the counter.

"My stars and garters…," she breathed out, her voice soft and dazed.

Dean narrowed his eyes and tilted his head down. "Uh… garters?"

"Um, excuse me. Are you… okay?" Sam asked the bizarrely acting woman who was getting closer to Frankie, but she ignored him. This caused him and his brother to step closer to their sister to protect her, but they were stopped just as they began when the woman spoke again in a shaky, disbelieving voice.

"Frankie?"

The girl's lungs tried for a shocked breath, but they seemed to stop working altogether.

"E-… Excuse me?" she stammered. How the hell did that woman know her name? She had never met her before in her life!

Or… or had she?

The smile returned to the stranger's face when she lifted a hand to Frankie's cheek, but she never touched skin. Instead, her smile transformed into a manic grin, exposing the light chip in her front tooth. "As I live and breathe!" the woman drawled, her voice losing its baffled hush and gaining a booming southern accent.

In a startling moment, for both Frankie and her brothers, the stranger wrapped her large, strong arms around the frail girl and lifted her a good few inches off the floor. Sam and Dean reached for their weapons on instinct and readied them against the woman, preparing to spout orders to release Frankie before the shop keep let out a hearty cackle. "In all my born days! Oh, baby! I never thought I'd see you walk through my door!"

The woman finally lowered and released the gasping girl. Frankie stepped back and held her arm – already feeling a bruise forming – and glared confusedly at the woman. After catching her breath, Frankie spoke in a firm, unsure voice. "Have… have we met before? Do I know you?"

Her words caused a somber reaction to reach the stranger's face. Her once manic grin faded and settled on a light ghost of a smile as the woman regained her composure. "No. I don't suppose you do. You were young. Not very, but still young. Don't suppose you'd remember much of me."

Frankie tilted her head to the side, her confused stare deepening. "I… I-I'm sorry, I just…" Frankie trailed off, pausing to rifle through any memories she could possibly have of the woman. None surfaced. "… Don't know you."

A low snort sounded from the woman, a deadpanned expression appearing on her face as she turned and leaned against the counter. "Not surprised. We only met once. But I know bounds about you, Frankie dear."

"Yeah. Yeah I get that. Mind telling me how?"

"Who are you anyway?" Sam added. Both he and Dean were fully aware of their gun and knife out in the open, but, oddly enough, the woman didn't seem at all fazed about them. Instead, she was more concerned that she had yet to introduce herself.

"Oh, pardon me. You'd think I was born in a sty. I'm Willadeene. I own this store." She huffed as she pushed off of the counter and adjusted a pot hanging from the ceiling. "Have since… well it's been so long. Lost count of the years." She finally looked – really looked – at the men in front of her. A sultry glint glazed over her eyes. "And who might y'all be?" Her suggestive tone triggered a discomfited look to reach their eyes. "Her I know. But y'all I'd like to." Walking over to Frankie, she lowered her voice to a loud whisper. "Which one's yours? My bet's on the tall one."

Frankie's eyebrows would have shot up to her hairline with how flustered the suggestion made her. "Oh, no, no, no. These are- they're my brothers. Both of them."

Willadeene's eyes blanked, her smile straightened into a firm line. "What?" Dean asked, a defensive tone covering his voice. The woman leaned back, her arms crossing under her large bosom as she sent the two men an unsmiling gaze.

"So… you're John's boys."

Now it was Sam and Dean's turn to get flustered. Dean raised his gun, pointing the barrel directly at the woman. Sam lifted the demon knife just behind him as his brother growled in a steely voice. "Alright, fun's over. You better start spilling how the hell you know who John is or I'll fill you with so many bullets you'll be sweating lead."

"Dean!" Frankie grunted, but she made no move to stop his aggressive actions. While she didn't think violence was the answer – yet – she still felt similar caution towards the stranger's knowledge of not just her, but _their_ father.

Willadeene was completely unfazed by the hostile attitudes on display before her. "I know a few things here and there. I wasn't born with my head in the ground," she answered vaguely, but it was obviously not good enough.

"What are you?" Sam questioned, his voice matching Dean's in intensity. "A monster? Hunter?"

"Neither. Now if you boys would just relax-"

"That's at the bottom of our list, lady, trust me. Now how do you know who John is? I won't ask again."

The look in the woman's eyes shifted, a dangerous glint now filling her deep green eye, pointing directly into the light green ones that threatened her. Her voice took on a low rumble, barely resembling an animalistic growl. "You come into my store, point a gun at me and demand answers when I clearly show no signs of hostility. But I warn you here, _boy_ , you keep usin' that tone with me and we're gunna have one helluva problem, you hear me?"

"Lady, I'd say we already got a problem. If you know our dad then you know who he was and what he did. That places you in a position you _really_ don't wanna be."

Willadeene snorted halfheartedly. She turned towards the counter and walked over to lean back against it. "Yeah. I know who he was. I know more than well what he did. What you two do. And I'll be glad to tell you how I know what I know, but we have other matters to discuss first."

"And what's that?" Sam spat from over Dean's shoulder.

"You three obviously didn't come in here knowin' who I was. So why are you really in here causing a ruckus?"

After lingering their hard gazes on the mysterious woman, Sam and Dean shared a look. They both knew that the best way to move things forward was to focus on what their current issue was. For now. The matter of their father would surely be brought back up.

The men finally lowered their weapons when they faced the expecting raised brow of Willadeene. Dean reached behind him and revealed Frankie's machete from under his jacket. "We're here 'cause of this," he spoke, holding the blade up next to his head. "You know anything about it?"

The moment the woman laid her eye on the machete, they knew they were in the right place. Willadeene's eye widened and then hardened as it panned down to the floor, a tiresome look peaking from behind her collected demeanor. "Ah," she hummed before letting out a short huff. "Shoulda known I'd see that monstrosity again someday."

"So you know what it is," Frankie spoke up, stepping up towards the woman. "You know what it does."

Willadeene lifted her eye up to the small girl. Her deep green iris seemed to glisten in a light that wasn't there. "'Course I do. I better, seein' as I made the damn thing."

"Made?!" Sam exclaimed. "As in… _made_?"

"Nice wording there, Sam," Dean muttered over his shoulder.

"Well," Willadeene continued, "the blade itself was forged by a friend of mine in New Orleans. But the whole…," the woman made a stabbing motion with her hand, "was my doin'."

"Okay, so let me get this straight," Dean started while holding up a hand. "You somehow know who Frankie is without her knowing you, and you also know who we are just by knowing that we're her brothers, and _then_ you seem to somehow know who our dad is, and _now_ you're telling us that you're the one that made this machete able to kill demons?" Dean shook his head with a humorless laugh. "Lady, if you don't start making sense we're gunna hafta use a lot more than guns on you."

Instead of matching his aggressive tone, Willadeene merely rolled her eye at the man. A prolonged huff seeped out of her lips as she strutted towards the trio. Just when she might be in striking distance, she continued passed them and stopped in front of the door to her shop. She flipped over the 'open' sign so that it now read 'closed' to potential customers. In a smooth motion, Willadeene pivoted around, her head lolling as a brazen attitude took over her form.

"It seems like this is gunna take up my whole afternoon. Follow me." Willadeene only got a few steps passed Sam and Dean before she stopped herself and turned to the men with a serious tint in her fierce eye. "Just so you know, I mean y'all absolutely no harm. But I should warn y'all. Things between us are about to get a helluva lot more uncomfortable."

Without any evaluation on her words, the woman continued on to the back of the room. Sam and Dean gave a hard look to each other before extending that look over to Frankie. With a hefty sigh and a half shrug from the girl, they followed the woman to the back of her shop and through the maroon curtains.

The other side of the drapes was a simple room that was duel purposed. On one side, it was storage for more pots, bags of soil that leaked black dirt on the linoleum, and boxes of chipped or cracked items in need of repair. On the other side, the side in which Willadeene was heading, was a staircase leading up to a second floor and a door just beside it. The trio glanced up the stairs to an eerie looking closed door at the top of a narrow entryway.

The door Willadeene was focusing on, however, appeared to be locked, and she revealed a ring of keys from her pocket to open it. While he waited for the door to open, Sam silently sighed and looked around the area. On the wall next to him was a corkboard littered with various papers and pictures. They looked like average things like flyers for town events, pictures of friends, and reminders and memos.

One picture was pinned to the wall that depicted Willadeene with another woman. She was a few inches taller, and she had thick brown hair that reached just passed her shoulders. When she smiled, her eyes squinted so much that they were almost closed. The two women held each other in a close embrace, one that surely showed their close bond. Sam flicked his eyes away from the photo to look for other interesting things pinned to the board.

One piece of paper in particular was a postcard, the top of which read ' _Greetings from Lawrence, Kansas_ ' in fancy, flamboyant letters that surely reflected the bigger design on the other side. Curious, Sam read the neat scribbling on the card. His eyes widened, and his elbow flung into Dean's arm, causing the man to let out a quiet yelp and look to his brother for an answer to his mildly throbbing shoulder. Instead of speaking, Sam pointed at the postcard. Dean gave Sam an annoyed glare before reading the card.

 _Thanks for your help, Willa! Come on up here anytime you're free for a Negroni and a chat! Don't keep me waiting!_

 _~ Missouri M._

' _Missouri,'_ Dean mouthed. He turned to Sam, still remaining wordless as he mouthed again. _'Moseley?'_ Sam merely shrugged, but the vaguely knowing glint in his narrowed eyes told Dean enough about whether or not they were talking about their psychic friend.

The door finally opened with an unnerving screech from the hinges. The inside of the mysterious room was pitch black, but with one flick of a switch from the strange woman, another staircase revealed to lead downward to a basement. At the bottom, another door appeared. Things were beginning to seem like the start of a procedural cop show, in the first few minutes where the unsuspecting victims blindly walk into their demise.

At the bottom of the stairs, the symbol on the door became visible. Sam squinted his eyes on the symbol, trying to decipher what it meant, but he was stopped when the door swung open, causing a strong cloud of incense to hit all of their noses.

They walked inside the room, gazing around at the alien environment. The room was well decorated; three lounge chairs sat around a dark coffee table off to the side. On the far wall, shelves upon shelves of jars and boxes labeled with concerning titles ornamented the area. Along the tops of the walls, plant life showing off thorns and flowers – the very kind on Willadeene's ribbon – grew and scraped against the ceiling. To top it all off, a demon trap lay painted beneath the trio and on the ceiling above them. Joining them on the walls were various other warding spells, and some spells that they had seen in many books in Bobby's house.

Sam huffed bitterly as he scoured around the room. "You're a witch," he spat like venom on his tongue.

"Natural born," the woman sighed while setting herself down in a large red chair. "You're surprised?"

"Surprised?" Dean echoed, stepping further into the room. "Compared to everything else, that's the least weird thing."

"It just makes you a lot easier to not like," Sam added, his scowl matching the rough tone of his voice.

Willadeene let out a long, burdened breath as she set her glare onto the two ill talking men. "I thought I made it clear that I mean y'all no harm."

"You're a witch. It's your job to cause people harm," Dean pointed out, eyeing the vines above him suspiciously.

"The stereotypes never end," the woman sighed. "Will you just have a seat? Get this over with?"

While Sam and Dean hesitated to move an inch closer to the woman, Frankie walked right on passed them and set herself down in a chair in front of her. Willadeene smiled warmly at the compliant girl, and that smile turned into an expecting sneer when it pointed back at her brothers. After another moment's hesitation, Sam finally set himself down in the chair beside Frankie. Dean chose to stand close behind, leaning against the vines on the wall with his arms crossed.

"Good," Willadeene said with a nod and leaned back against her chair. "What do you wanna know?"

"Everything," Dean grunted.

The woman shot him an impatient glare. "Now that's too specific. Try something a little simpler," she sarcastically drawled. "Look here. If this whole thing's gunna work, you need to give me something to go on. Else we gon' be here all day."

Sam glanced back at his brother before sighing and deciding to take the lead. "Let's just start with the machete. We wanna know where it came from. Why it was made in the first place." Willadeene's eyes flicked over to Frankie. "And how it ended up in Frankie's mom's possession." Frankie didn't miss the light discomfited look that passed briefly behind the woman's eye when her mom was mentioned.

"Okay," Willadeene began, adjusting her position in the chair. Her mannerisms hinted that it would be a lengthy story. "I opened this store many, many years ago. Bein' a witch back then – let alone in the south – I had lots of dangers to take into consideration. Hell, bein' a black woman was enough to trigger riots and lynches. But hunters on top of Klansmen? That was a lot of weight to bear. I set up this shop and kept my head low. You couldn't be too careful back then. So I chose the least conspicuous business while still staying true to my practice."

"What does any of this have to do with the machete?" Dean asked from across the room. Willadeene shot a nasty glare up to the man. She didn't even need to speak to shut him up.

"If this story's gon' be told, you gon' shut your mouth, boy. You got that?"

Sam and Frankie raised their brows in amused expressions. Sam dared to send a smirking glance back at Dean which was immediately glared at. Willadeene continued after an indignant huff.

"For years I laid low. Did my rituals and spells down here where I couldn't be observed. 'Course back then this was better hidden. Nowadays people just assume it's more storage. But this is actually, in a way, my second office." She nodded at the confused expressions on their faces. "Back then and even today, I helped people with certain requests they had. Love spells, fortune, good luck-"

"And what did they get in return?" Sam interjected. "What were the consequences of taking spells from a witch?" Willadeene didn't immediately answer. Instead she merely raised her brows to stare at the man across from her. "Did you kill them? Send a spirit to do your dirty work?"

"Boy, you been hangin' 'round some bitch ass witches." Sam was taken aback by the brashness of the woman's voice. "Not every witch gets a tingle and a half on the sufferin' of others. Despite what you may think, I've suffered a great deal in my life and refuse to cause that on another human being. Any consequences my costumers received were on their own devices." Willadeene made an attempt at cooling herself. It made little progress. "I helped people who _needed_ it. Not every 'unhappy Harry' or 'Sally sob-story' got to come down here. I have a way of lookin' into people's true selves and sensing their pain." The woman shook her head and looked tiredly into her lap. "Y'all should see the pain I sense in _you_ …"

Frankie squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. She hoped that was all she sensed. She didn't need her probing her thoughts or – God forbid – her _soul_. "So, you gave spells to people as a part-time job," she said, trying to move along the conversation.

"Right. So some time later, I get a gift in the mail from a friend of mine who lived in New Orleans, Beau."

"Beau?" Dean repeated. Willadeene nodded.

"I open the package and inside is this brand new, freshly forged silver machete." Dean glanced down to the blade in his hand. "Just a machete. Beau knew I needed a new silver weapon for a ritual, so he made me one for my… oh, what was it? Two hundred and forty… _third_ birthday."

"Damn," Dean grunted. "Two _hundred_ years old? How old are you?"

"Now, really. When is it _ever_ appropriate to ask a woman's age?"

The man averted his eyes and clenched his jaw. He held up an awkward hand. "Sorry."

"Thank you. But if you must know, I'll be three hundred in a decade or so."

Sam cleared his throat, gathering the woman's attention. "If we could just… the machete?" The lack of aggression in his voice this time didn't gain him a scowl, but it did gain him a roll of her eye.

"Yes, yes. Anyway, after that one ritual, I had no real use for the damn thing. I just put it away for around thirty something years. Forgot I even had it."

"So what reminded you of it?" Frankie asked. Willadeene shifted her eye to the girl. A soft smile formed on the woman's face, but the smile was less happy and had a more sorrowful feel to it.

"One day, just like any other, a woman comes walkin' into my shop. She seems like the normal gardening type. Probably lookin' for some lilies or orchids to plant inside her picket fence. But she walks up to the counter. The moment I look at her… I _feel_ the pain in her. She's suffered great loss. Not entirely death, but something very close to it. She asks me something, a code phrase that's passed through the grapevine from one source to another. That's how people find me. And this woman found me."

"What's the phrase?" Dean asked.

Willadeene pressed her lips together with a half-assed attempt at a roll of her eye. "Now if I tell everybody I won't get a moment's sleep, will I?" After an understanding nod of the man's head, the woman continued on with her story. "So I close up shop. Bring her down here. Set up my table and ask her what she needs from me. She doesn't look me in the eye when she tells me." Willadeene was now looking into her lap, no longer looking Frankie in the eye. "She says that her daughter was in an accident. She was playin' outside… and didn't see a car comin' down the road. She got hit, busted up her head real bad, and she was taken to the hospital. Now she didn't die, but a week later… she might as well have."

"What happened to her?" Sam asked, his brows narrowing in curiosity.

Willadeene sighed. "Brain dead."

Dean had the urge to repeat his question from before, not seeing how this had much to do with the machete, but he kept his mouth shut, knowing well what attitude he would be met with if he did.

"So I ask her, 'you want me to heal this girl? That's gon' call for some real dark magic. I'm not sure you wanna be involved with that.' But she tells me no. That's not what she was askin' of me." Willadeene's entire form read discomfort and sadness. Frankie would have never missed it. She leaned forward, her expression softening to a sympathetic stare.

"What did she ask you to do?"

Willadeene shook her head, her wavy locks bouncing against her head. She lifted her head, rubbing her temple as she slipped back into story mode. "She told me that she already took care of her daughter. Her daughter was fine. The doctor's couldn't explain it. She miraculously regained consciousness and was as good as ever. Had a few real bad headaches from time to time, but was otherwise perfect. And I asked her, 'how'd you do that? How could you possibly have taken care of her?' And she told me. She told me that was why she came to me."

Willadeene finally looked up, but she avoided Frankie. She glanced between Sam and Dean as she collected the raving emotions of the story. "She had sold her soul. Her soul for her daughter's life back."

Frankie's body stilled. The only thing she felt was the beating of her heart, which progressively quickened. She was still raw from her own sold soul. Hearing that someone else had signed away theirs to a demon triggered a fight or flight reaction within her. She sat back in her chair, holding firmly onto the arms to hang onto her composure.

"I told her, 'what do you want me to do about it?' And she just stared at me. And then she said… 'Can you reverse it?' And then _I_ just stared at her. I asked her what she meant, and she said she wanted me to reverse her contract. She changed her mind."

"Wait," Sam said. "She gets her daughter's life back, and then she wants her brain dead again? What changed her mind?"

"She was well aware what would happen in ten years. She didn't want her daughter to find her body mangled from a hellhound. The girl was only twelve at the time. She said she couldn't look into her little girl's eyes and know that she would eventually see her mother dead and torn to shreds in her own home."

Frankie furrowed her brows. She thought long and hard about the story and its details.

"So I told her, 'no. I can't do that. You're just gunna hafta own up for what you did.' I had to be rough with her. The poor girl signed away her soul. She knew the consequences. But she insisted I help her. She'd pay any price. She didn't want to be killed by hellhounds. She didn't want her daughter to find her like that. But she wouldn't listen to me.

"It got to the point where I was about to toss her out… but then she just looked at me with these big eyes, tellin' me how much she screwed up her life and her girl's. She knew her mistake, but she had to reverse it somehow. You know what she said to me? She said I wasn't the first magician she visited. And she said if I couldn't help her then I wouldn't be the last. Now, I know y'all know how temptin' and manipulatin' other witches can be, so I took pity on her.

"I told her, 'look. I can't reverse it. But I _can_ help you protect yourself from any threats you come against. Will that make you happy?' Needless to say it did. So I reeled through ideas. I had enchanted weapons before, so it was no big deal. Finally after all these years, the machete came to mind. I told her my idea of enchanting a blade that would protect her from the hellhounds and demons that would come to claim her soul. But I told her I wouldn't do it until she _really_ thought about owning up to her mistake."

After a brief pause, Dean spoke up from the back. "So what did she do?"

Willadeene sank back in her chair with a deadpanned expression. "She paid me on the spot." Dean and Sam shared a humorless snort. Frankie remained silent. "I had the blade ready a week later. I enchanted it with spells working against demons and hellhounds, a spell to enhance its durability, a spell to ward off reapers, and a few other things." After a curious look from Sam and Dean, Willadeene shrugged. "What? I'm old. I've learned a few good spells over the years. So, the woman took it, the blade. And she hid it. Plannin' on usin' it in ten years' time. That was the last time it was in my possession."

The room was quiet. The only sound was Willadeene adjusting her position in her chair, but Sam and Dean were silent. And Frankie was silent until she mustered up the strength to speak up. Her voice came out clear, but there were cagey undertones that were easily picked up by her brothers.

"Willadeene," she spoke. "Who was the woman?" After a short period without an answer, Frankie lifted her eyes to meet the deep green one across from her. It shared a similar burdened glint. "Did she give you her name?"

The older woman gave a slow nod. She spoke quietly and tenderly. "She did, baby."

Frankie nodded along with her. She swallowed, the lump forming momentarily catching her voice. "What was it?"

Willadeene's eye drifted closed. The woman took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. Preparing for the storm about to happen. "Sierra Pearce."

Frankie couldn't even feel her heart pounding in her chest anymore.

"Woah, woah, wait," Dean spoke up from the wall. He pushed off of the vines to hold up a hand, eyeing the woman in the chair in front of him. "Frankie's _mom_? You're saying Frankie's _mom_ is the one who sold her soul?!" With a deep sigh, Willadeene nodded her head, her eye drifting to the table between the chairs.

"So," Sam muttered, "that means Frankie… when she was a kid…"

"Almost died. Would have if her momma hadn't made a deal to save her."

Sam and Dean made more attempts to speak, but they were just as speechless as their sister. That is until the girl found her voice, but it wasn't as quiet or inquisitive as theirs.

"No," she spoke, her voice rough and firm. "No. That's bullshit." Her brothers and Willadeene snapped their eyes over to the girl, watching as she lifted herself from her chair. Her glare was aimed right at the older woman in front of her. "That is such bullshit! You're a goddamn liar!" Willadeene furrowed her brows, but she remained silent. "My mother didn't die from a hellhound! She wasn't killed by a demon either! She died of kidney failure! She never would've sold her soul, not even for me! How dare you try and soil her name by telling this shit _to_ _my face_!"

"I know you're upset, baby, but-"

"Upset?! You think I'm upset?! You're sitting there on your fake ass telling me that I was brain dead as a kid! Don't you think I would've remembered that happening?! And you're telling me that my mom went to a crossroads and made out with a demon to save my life, and never mentioned a word about it?!"

"Would you mention a word about it?"

Frankie's voice was silent as if shut off by a light switch. She glared ahead at the woman, completely wordless. Despite her solid scowl, exasperated panic lay underneath. Willadeene didn't know, did she? No, she couldn't know about her own deal. But her prolonged silence surely wasn't helping towards that situation.

"You're wrong," she added, shaking her head in disbelief. "She would never. She wouldn't."

"Then where did she get that machete?" the older woman asked. She looked deep into Frankie's frazzled eyes. "If nothin' of what I'm tellin' you is true, then how did my machete end up in her hands?"

"I… I don't know. But I know this wasn't how! My mother died of polycystic kidney disease! Cysts grew in her kidneys and her liver and they shut down! That's how she died! Not from agents of Hell!"

"Well… hun… she didn't die from either."

Frankie crossed her arms over her chest, leaning on one leg as she glowered down to the woman. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Willadeene lowered her head, linking her fingers in her lap. "The story doesn't end with me just handin' her the machete. There's more to tell."

"Then _tell_ _it_."

The older woman sighed. She lifted her head, but avoided all eye contact. "Her visit wasn't the last I saw of her. Since I was the only one who knew her secret, I was the only one she could vent to. She'd call up my place, talk about a nightmare she'd had, ask me questions I rarely had an answer to. But eventually, our talks led to more than her deal."

"Meaning?" Frankie snapped.

"I liked her. She liked me. We became fast friends. We'd talk about other things, like her job. Like you." Frankie flicked her eyes to the floor. "She'd go on and on about you and your monster books and you pretendin' to be like your daddy. I know more than I can say about you. You were her favorite subject. She even brought you over to meet me once. You were such a sweet little thing."

The woman's attitude then shifted from delighted to serious. "Then she'd bring up John." Sam and Dean's attentions strengthened. "She told me what she could. Mentioned his two boys. Talked about how they traveled together. The moment she dropped the name 'Winchester' I knew I was dippin' my toe in a morgue."

"So she just casually talked about our dad? Like it was nothing?" Sam incredulously asked.

"Oh, no. It took some time to drop a hint about Frankie's mystery daddy. After we'd gotten to know each other pretty well was when she opened up like that. She was very careful about what she talked about. But she never talked about him over the phone. She'd come over to visit. Get someone to babysit Frankie while we dished."

Frankie thought back to all those times as a kid that she was left with Alden. She assumed they were all because her mom worked late. All those nights when she'd have to make her own dinner, put herself to sleep, she assumed they were due to the ludicrous graveyard shifts at the bar. How many of those lonely nights were really because of her mom going to chat it up with her secret friend?

"But eventually… the visits stopped comin'." Willadeene's entire demeanor shifted to a more somber tone as she continued. "Sierra got sick. Really sick, as you so vividly put it. This was, if you can believe it, just a few months ago. Her contract was almost up. She had less than a year before the hellhounds came, but then all of a sudden she became so sick that she was laid up in bed most days. She knew then… that her plan wouldn't work anymore. She would be too weak to fend them off. After nine whole years of preparin' for the inevitable, fate finally caught up to her. There would be no way to work around it.

"So she called me up. Told me that she had to do what she thought was best. The cysts were in large enough quantity that no one would question her death if she just slipped away in the night."

"What? What-what did she mean by that?" Frankie stuttered, gazing firmly into the other woman's eye. "What are you saying?"

Willadeene tightened her jaw, swallowing down a discomfited lump in her throat before speaking again. "If she couldn't fend off the hellhounds, she had to be sure she died before then. The way she saw it, she was dying anyway. This way, she could go when and how she wanted."

"She killed herself?" Sam asked.

"How?" Dean added.

Frankie was quiet.

Willadeene sighed through her nose. "Arsenic. Wouldn't do too much to her body that wasn't already happenin'. She decided that one night she'd swallow some. She said she'd lie in her bed, consume the poison, and slip away on her own devices. And that was it. That was the last conversation I had with her. Her name popped up in the obituaries a few days later."

And that seemed to be the end of her story. There wasn't any more to tell. They now knew where the machete came from, how it came to be, and they learned that Sierra sold her soul to save Frankie's life when she was hit by a car. Frankie learned a lot more than she ever wanted to know.

She slowly lowered herself into her chair as realization washed over her. She realized that despite not wanting to believe a word of what she had heard, who was she to deny it? The story's details checked out. Her mother was gone a lot, off to Parrish apparently. She had met Willadeene once, even if she didn't really remember it. She had always felt wary when crossing the street, always making sure to look both ways. She always had bad headaches, but she assumed they were due to her sickness. Apparently not. And the final detail Willadeene said about her mom dying in her bed.

The night before she died, her mom came into her room. She used all of her strength to walk over to Frankie's bed and sit on it. She told her how much of a gift she was, and how much she loved her. Frankie knew what she was doing. She had done it multiple times during her sickness. She was just preparing for her death as if it could happen at any moment. It never crossed her mind that the moment would come so soon. The next morning, Frankie found her mom in her bed, head lolled to the side and chin dry and sticky with old drool. No pulse was picked up. She wouldn't respond to her cries. She found her mother dead from what she thought was kidney failure.

But she knew that she had to face the fact that it was most likely not the truth.

The truth was suicide. Suicide to avoid the repercussions of her reckless actions.

She was numb. She was numb physically and mentally. Her mind, while with any other news would be raving and buzzing like mad, was now blank. Just blank. No singular thought passed by her mind. But after some time of staring down at the ornate rug beneath her feet, one thought did cross her mind.

' _That's going to be me.'_

Her mom sold her soul. She sold her soul. Her mom was in Hell. She was going to Hell. There was nothing her mom could do about it. There was nothing she could do about it. So then that begged the question…

She was dying anyways, so should she beat them to the punch, too?

"Frankie?" The girl raised her eyes up to the woman across from her. "Baby, you okay?"

She didn't answer.

"Frankie," grunted Dean, using a harder voice to try and snap her out of her trance. She barely moved her head in his direction.

She looked down at her hands stretched out over her thighs. After all these years, her mom was Hell-bound. She knew where she was headed in ten years. And she still decided to leave her alone so many nights. If she was working, that was one thing. She wanted to make sure she was taken care of for when she finally passed. But going to see a witch in a town an hour away for a drink and a chat? That was how she chose to spend her limited time?

"Frankie, hunny. You listen to me." The girl didn't raise her eyes, not even when Willadeene crouched down in front of her. "I don't know what's goin' through your head, but you need to know that your momma _loved_ you. She wanted the best life for you. Everything she did was for you." Frankie remained still and absent. "Even the things you woulda never thought of was 'cause of her. She told you about John to warn you what was waiting for you out in the world. She bought you your first lore books to educate you on what was going to hurt you. And she made sure you were as safe as can be. Always. She loved you, baby. Never forget that."

Frankie was numb to the thick arms that wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. She didn't reciprocate the gesture. She looked passed her shoulder, staring at nothing, barely thinking a series of thoughts.

But there was one thought she focused on in particular. One other than her possible shared fate. A thought lingering on every detail Willadeene just laid out to her.

She had to hear it from the source. From her mother herself.


	26. Chapter 25 - Ghost

**A/N: April Fools! I'm not dead! Hahaha I got y'all, didn't I! ... But really, I have so many apologies in my body that it hurts, but I'm back again with the longest chapter so far. I hope it's worth the wait, and I'll see y'all in the next chapter.**

 **Also, thanks for not leaving. It means the world.**

 **Update (4-18-19): Howdy y'all. The next chapter is coming very soon so hang tight. Finals are coming up and I plan to catch up on all the delayed chapters once the semester is over in two weeks. Keep an eye out for the chapter within the next half week. Thank you guys for being so patient!**

* * *

"Wait… I don't get it. How'd she know how to sell her soul anyway?"

The conversation continued with every question over every intricate detail of Willadeene's tale. The questions bounced between Sam, Dean, and the witch herself, but Frankie sat back in her chair, lips as clamped as a clam's.

"Well how does anyone know how to sell their soul," Dean offered, answering Sam's question. "Through the grapevine or from a demon."

"Or a witch." At Sam's sour point, both he and Dean glared across the way at Willadeene who leaned back in her chair with a raised brow.

"You think-? Oh, you two and your damn preexisting notions. She sold her soul _before_ talkin' to me remember?"

"We don't mean you. You said she visited other magic users before you, right? Maybe she saw one before selling her soul in order to save Frankie." Dean glanced over to his taciturn sister as Sam continued. "Maybe they suggested a crossroads deal. And then maybe she realized her mistake and tried to get that same guy to reverse it. Then when he refused she went on to the next magic user, then the next and the next."

"Eh, it's a solid theory," the witch said, her voice soon growing somber. "Guess we can't be exactly certain now. Not like we can just call her up and ask."

"Yeah, well the cause doesn't matter," Dean butt in, returning his gaze to Sam and Willadeene. "The deed's done. There's nothing we can do about it now." He strutted back over to his spot on the wall next to the flowers and vines and leaned against it. "There anything else we need to know?"

Willadeene shook her head. "None that would be too useful or necessary."

Dean nodded his head. He took up idly looking around the room, switching his sights from the jars of exotic spell ingredients to the ghost-like smoke flittering into the air from an incense burner to the ritualistic books on the shelf to the vine slithering over his shoulder.

But he soon found that it wasn't a vine that was now on his shoulder.

"Geez!" he yelped as he practically threw the light green snake from his shoulder to the wall. At the first sight of the sudden reptile, Sam twisted in his seat and nearly shot up from his chair the moment his eyes landed on its sleek scales. Its serpentine tongue flicked out irately as it began a slow climb back up into the vines. "What the hell is that?!"

"Well what you so worked up over?" Willadeene exclaimed as she rose from her chair. She waltzed over to the snake and lightly clutched its elongated belly, then proceeded to pull it from the purple-dusted flowers. "You act like you ain't never seen a familiar before."

"A familiar?" Sam exclaimed, eyeing the woman as she wrapped the snake loosely around her neck.

"Familiar? What the hell's that?" Dean sputtered. He shook his shoulders to relieve himself from the shock.

"A witch's companion," Sam answered. He turned to Willadeene. "I thought they were, like, black cats or Dobermans."

"A familiar can take any form. The world don't apply to Bewitched guidelines. Y'all really need to work on your stereotyping." The woman then put on a loving grin as she stroked her fingers over the snakes ever curling body. "'Sides. Monty comes in real use with spells. Tears of an Orphaned Python won't do anything substantial, but it can be of good comfort with migraines."

"Monty?" Dean spoke from near the wall. "So he's… Monty Python?" Sam and Willadeene stared back at him with furrowed brows and unamused frowns. Dean wore a small smirk – proud of the irony – before it fell with an awkward nod of his head.

With the excitement over with, Sam picked up Dean's previous action of gazing around the room. He didn't have to look as far, though, when his eyes landed on a picture frame that sat on the bookshelf next to him. The photo depicted Willadeene and that woman from the previous photograph posing for a picture at some bar or restaurant. The woman sat across from her, head turned slightly to the side to smile at the witch at the other side. Now that Sam really looked at her, she appeared more like a certain girl he knew.

"Is this Sierra?" he asked, pointing to the picture. Frankie turned her head just enough to see the photograph.

"That's her," Willadeene answered. "Was about a year ago. It was her birthday."

Sam and Dean wouldn't have known it based on how well she hid it, but Frankie was fuming. Her mother told her that she had to work late that night. Frankie had baked her a cake for when she got back. She said her stomach was hurting and saved it for breakfast the next morning. But it wasn't a stomach ache. She had already eaten.

But there was one person who picked up on her anger. Willadeene's eye flicked over to the girl sitting quietly in her chair. The witch pressed her lips together. Without fully acknowledging the pain Frankie was going through, she rose from her chair and announced that she was going to fetch everyone some tea. Dean tried to refuse, but the woman shot a look to him with the intensity of a bullet and shut his mouth. She left the three in the room alone while she got their drinks.

Sam and Dean turned to each other, sharing wary glares from the new information. They thought Frankie finding out that her mom might be a ghost was bad. But this… they could have never expected this outcome from the machete's origin, nor could they decipher exactly what was going on inside their sister's head.

They turned to Frankie who was still sitting in her chair, staring at her mother in the photograph. One of them needed to say something.

"Frankie."

"Frankie?" they said in unison.

They hesitantly glanced at each other, unsurprised yet pestered by their synchronized speech, but then turned back to the silent girl to try again. Dean backed out and let Sam speak to Frankie. "Um…," but what could he say? After battling with his words for a few heavy seconds, Sam finally huffed out a sigh and shook his head, staring down at his linked fingers. "Look… maybe she was lying. Y'know, we just met her, she's a witch, she could just be trying to get in your head-"

"She has a picture of my mom." Both Sam and Dean were surprised and relieved to hear her actually speaking. They weren't too thrilled with the shuddering and dour sound of her words, though. "There was no way she could've known we were coming. And even- and even if she _did_ , how could she have that photo?"

"Witches are crafty," Dean spoke with a half shake of his head. "Each one is different, but if our past run-ins with 'em have anything in common it's that they are evil sons o' bitches. They'll do whatever it takes to take you down."

"And many of them are involved with demons," Sam added. "It's possible that one could've told Willadeene we were coming."

"And that's the _last_ thing we need right now." Sam and Dean narrowed their brows as the girl lifted from her chair and stalked over to the bookshelf. The girl was focused on one thing, and that was the picture of her mother and the witch. She picked up the frame and gazed hard at the dark haired woman across from Willadeene. "Franks," Dean spoke, attempting to gather her attention. "You okay?"

Frankie slowly shook her head from side to side, eyes glued to the photo. "All this time. I thought she was working her ass off just to provide for me. Graveyard shifts, overtime… how much of that was a lie?"

Her brothers pressed their lips hard together. Here was another moment where they needed to say something. Again, Sam stepped up to the plate, but he found it harder to do so than before. He opened his mouth to speak, left it suspended in silence from the lack of words to say, and then finally pushed some out of his lungs.

"Look, you heard Willadeene. If what she said was true, everything your mom did was to provide for you. Even the things you never even thought about."

"My _mother_ spent her _last_ _birthday_ with a _witch_ multiple towns over instead of her _only daughter_." Sam's mouth clamped shut at the wounded tone of her voice. The girl snapped her head over to him, eyeing him with an indignant glare. "I spent twenty-one years with her. Not once did I question her secrets. And yeah. She had secrets. But something like this?" Frankie's mouth moved, her lips shaped words, but her voice was silent.

She shut her mouth with a trembling, defeated sigh. Her eyelids fell along with her head. The picture frame in her hands was smacked face down on the bookshelf, the image of her once mother now unseen to the world.

Dean felt it was his turn to try and reason with the girl. He stepped forward, standing just behind Sam's chair. "Frankie, look, we get it. You may not think we do, but believe me. We do. Me and Sam," he glanced down to his brother, "we're two of the few people who can at least almost understand."

"That so," her voice answered. But her voice barely resembled the lively, untiring one he had previously known at Bobby's house.

"Yeah. That's so. Look, we also had a parent who kept secrets. One who was gone a lot, made bad choices every now and again… even… met a similar fate." Dean was blind to the curious look Frankie sent him. "But he also did what he could to get by, to get _us_ by. No matter what he did we came first. And I have no doubt in my mind that your mom did the same."

Frankie was still, in mind and in body. It wasn't until Willadeene could be heard coming down the stairs that she found enough strength in her to return to her chair. With a nearly involuntary heave from her chest, her voice puffed out in a burdened sigh. "Guess we can't be exactly certain now."

Before another word could be uttered – not that any of them had the words to say – Willadeene entered with a tray of tea in her hands. If she had sensed the discomfort in the room, she refused to acknowledge it. She distributed individual cups to Sam and Dean, both of which hesitantly took the mysterious black liquid. They may have been polite enough to take it out of her hand, but they'd be damned if they drank the stuff.

Willadeene finally rounded Frankie's chair and lowered her tray for the girl to take the beverage presented to her. "Alright, dear. A little Ethiopian Hot Tea made by yours truly!" Her chipper attitude had no effect on the dismal Frankie. The girl reached for the drink and brought it to her lap. She made just as much an attempt to drink the tea as her brothers did.

Willadeene bristled from her cold demeanor, but she brushed it off with a chipped-toothed smile. "I must say that despite the circumstances… it's very nice to finally meet you again. I don't want this news to dampen any crack at friendship between us. Y'know, even after all your momma told me, there's still so much about you I wanna know. What've you been up to these past years?" Frankie kept quiet. The witch's smile began to droop, but she whipped it back into its upright position as if it were a misbehaved circus lion. She set herself back in her large red chair. "Have you been thinkin' 'bout goin' to school somewhere? 'Bama University's a real good school. Unless you're a fan of orange, I s'pose."

Frankie lightly turned the porcelain tea cup this way and that on its matching saucer, seemingly not listening to a word Willadeene was saying. But the witch refused to give up. "Huntsville maybe? You into engineerin'? What _are_ you into? Let's start there. Y'know I used to wanna be a cook. Go to culinary school. 'Course I was always tied up here. Plus if they found out I was a witch they'd flip their lids, but who wouldn't nowadays?"

Sam heard Dean make a noise behind him. He looked back to him to see his brother motioning his head to follow him. Sam made sure Willadeene was content with her rambling before he lifted himself from his chair to join his brother by the basement's door.

Sam and Dean stood next to each other, watching as the witch tried to make any progress with the silent Frankie. She had transitioned from her love of cooking to her travels. None of it seemed to interest the girl. And none of it interested them either.

"So," Dean finally spoke, his voice low so as to not be heard by either woman. "This changes things."

Sam tightened his jaw through a sigh. "Yeah. It's worse." He detached his gaze from his sister to switch it over to Dean. "What are we gunna do now? I mean, it was hard enough when her mom was a _ghost_ , but _this_?" With his own jaw tensing, Dean turned his hard gaze over to meet Sam's. "Dean, we can't fix this. Not without doing something we shouldn't."

"There's nothing to fix." Dean pointed his eyes down to think, but there was nothing to think over. "We gotta take care of that ghost."

Sam's brows furrowed. "The ghost? What about Frankie?"

Dean blinked up to Sam. "What about her?" Sam's furrowed brows shot up in surprise. "Look, this sucks for her. I get it. Sam, I _get_ it. But this is something she's gotta take care of on her own. In her own way. I mean, what can we do that'll help her?"

"Well, for starters, we kinda _know_ what she's going through. It was hard enough when we had to go through it alone. She doesn't have to."

"So what? We set her down? Pour her some whisky? Shave our heads and call ourselves Dr. Phil? You think that'll help her get over the fact that her mom is being tortured six ways 'til Sunday in Hell?"

"It's worth a shot, Dean. Letting her fester will just make her screwed up."

Dean pressed his lips together as he and Sam looked back over to Willadeene chatting their sister's head off. " _All_ of this is screwed up. But we've got bigger problems."

"What? Killing a ghost?" Sam retorted bitterly. Dean was unfazed by his remark.

"Yeah. I thought that's what we did, y'know, for a living." Sam's sour mindset began to ease with Dean's point. "Besides. Once we get that over with we can get back to Bobby's. No offense to Frankie, but the sooner we get outta here the better." Dean suppressed a forlorn sigh when Frankie rested her head on her hand. "I'll head back to _Greenbow_ and find out who the ghost is. I should be back by late afternoon. Maybe later if it won't go down without a fight." And at that, Dean turned to walk back upstairs.

"Wait," Sam spoke, halting his brother's outstretched arm. "Alone?"

"Alone. You stay here with Frankie. Make sure Willadeene doesn't turn out to be a problem. Er… more of one." He made a move to leave again.

"Wait. Uh…"

"What?" Dean pressed impatiently.

"I mean… maybe I should go take care of the ghost. And you stay."

"… Why?"

Sam pushed down the sigh in his chest. He awkwardly looked behind him, both making sure Frankie couldn't hear him and avoiding the unease of the subject. "Let's be real here. You're a lot closer to Frankie than I am. I know that. You know that. She knows that. She'd be better off if you'd… y'know. Stay behind to watch out for her."

Dean rolled his eyes, turning back around to face his brother. "We've already been over this. Yes you screwed up. Sure. That's in the past. Does it still suck? Hell yeah. But we're kinda in the beginnings of the goddamn apocalypse right now, so you need to stow your crap and do what needs to be done. In this case, that's get over your mistakes and watch Frankie." He continued to eye his silent brother until he turned back around and opened the door. "Just give her whatever she needs. I'll be back soon."

"Wait!"

" _What_?"

"What do I tell her? If she asks where you went."

"Just… tell her I went to get my car washed."

"A car wash. Right now. In the middle of all this."

"Like she's gunna question it. Just make up something else then. I'll be back."

Sam tried to sputter out another excuse, but the sigil-marked door shut off the opportunity. He puffed out the unheard words in a scoff. He raked his fingers through his long bangs, turning around to face the two women he was now practically babysitting.

He laid his eyes on Willadeene. A feeling of animosity surged up his spine. He had a bad feeling about her. The fact that she was a witch was only half of the issue. He didn't buy the whole "selling spells to spread some good" crap. In fact, he didn't buy most of what she had said since they came down to the basement. For all he knew she could have made up the whole story behind the machete and Frankie's mother. But what the hell did he know? He had never even met Sierra. If Frankie felt like the story was legit, it might as well be, right?

He switched his gaze over to his sister. The surge of hostility morphed into a cloud of guilt within him. She had told him that they needed to set aside their crap and focus on stopping Lucifer. But how could he possibly stop when he was the one who caused everything? And that was only most of the issue. The last bit revolved around the way Frankie saw him.

When he knew for sure that they were related, Sam would have done next to anything to treat her the way a brother should treat his sister. She deserved as much for all she had been through. Losing her mother and then setting off on an impossible quest to find her father was no easy feat, and yet it had led her right to them. Not to mention going up against a ghoul and _surviving_ – even if that was with the help of Dean. She was tough, that was for sure. And she was certainly someone that Sam wanted to get to know, to give her the treatment she deserved.

But what had Sam done instead of that? Ran off with Ruby. Drowned himself in demon blood. Refused to listen to his family. Set Lucifer free. He didn't blame her at all for shying away from every interaction he threw her.

But he wanted what she and Dean had. They got on each other's nerves, bickered and quarreled, were constantly bitter about something the other had done, but at the end of the day Dean still offered her the radio, she still chose to sit next to him in a diner's booth, and they still chuckled to each other about something the other had said. And above all, Dean comforted her at every stage of her heartbreaking journey. When her family died and when her house was sold, he was there, and she would fall into him like she had done so her whole life.

Sam wanted that. He wanted to be able to comfort her when life threw her a curveball. He wanted to offer her a beer and a chat when she needed it and have her gladly accept. And above all he wanted her to look at him like a brother and not as the guy who revved up the end of the world. He had always had a brother, but he never had a sister before, and he wasn't going to ruin that like everything else.

He finally shook his head, removing himself from his roaming thoughts, and finally settled back into his chair. He cleared his throat with a smile to Frankie – and a stony gaze to Willadeene – as he reentered the conversation with the witch and his sister.

"Where's Dean?"

Sam blinked over to Frankie, surprised that she had spoken at all. Willadeene seemed to have a similar reaction. After all, she had just spilled out an eighth of her life story and the girl only opened her mouth to speak to her brother.

"Uh…," Sam spoke. He quickly ran through his head to find a believable excuse. "He went to wash his car." He internally winced. It sounded worse when he said it. "Y'know, it got all dirty from the… uh, dirt roads, and he thought he should fix that before we left for Bobby's. 'Cause… I guess we're done here, right?" Every moment he had to stare into her eyes his excuse grew more absurd.

"Okay," she finally said, simple and sweet. He let out an unnoticeable sigh of relief.

After that things grew uncomfortable. Willadeene had stopped her rambling and now looked into her tea, as did Frankie. Sam sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers against his porcelain teacup. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he eyed Willadeene's every move.

It wasn't only Willadeene's movements that he noticed, though. His eyes caught onto the languid slither of Monty, her snake familiar. The unease he felt in the dark pit of his stomach prevented him from sitting comfortably in his chair. With no other way to block the discomfort, Sam gave into his better judgement and took a sip of the mysterious black tea. He grimaced at the gritty taste on the back of his tongue.

After a while, though, things became too awkward, and, seeing as he was technically in charge, he had to fix that. "So… Willadeene." She hummed with a lively tone, glad to have any conversation. "How long have you been living in Alabama?"

"Oh, years. Don't know how many, though. When did the Civil War start?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Uh… eighteen sixty-one?"

"Yeah, about thirty years before that."

The room threatened to delve back into uncomfortable territory again, so he kept the questions coming. "So how much did you see Sierra? Oh, uh…," he sheepishly turned to Frankie. "I mean… if it's fine to ask that. Um… y'know, just forget it. So, how did-"

"You can ask it." Sam didn't turn his head over to the girl, refusing to see if her face matched the damaged tone of her voice. "You can ask it," she said calmer. "I wanna know."

With her blessing Sam snapped his eyes up to the witch, as did Frankie. The woman looked discomfited with the question, and why shouldn't she be? "Well… I can't rightly give a number can I? Or an accurate amount of time spent." She covered up her discomfort with a wide smile. "But, um… we did meet up a couple times a month. Sometimes we'd meet halfway, other times she'd come all the way over here."

"Did you ever come to Hollis County?" Frankie's voice was unnervingly even and leveled.

"Um… no. I wasn't really ever too keen on travelin' great distances in my truck. Been meanin' to upgrade, but funds are tight."

"Can't you just conjure up more money?" Sam asked. Willadeene glared at the arrogant tone to his words. "Seeing as you can do it so easily with your costumers."

"Boy, you better watch your tongue with me. I done told you what I do is out of kindness."

"Sure. For a price, though, right?"

The witch's fingers dug into the arms of her chair. "What is your issue with me? I ain't done nothin' to you and now you're strikin' up some animosity in _my_ house?"

Sam held up his hands in mock defense. "I'm just asking a question."

"Yeah. You 'bout to be rubbin' a bump on your big ol' forehead, is what you 'bout to do." Sam scoffed and stretched his own arms out on the arm of the chair. Willadeene's voice lowered into a mumble, gradually getting louder with every point she made. "Invite you into my house. Offer you tea. Answer all your questions, and for what? So I can be sat down and insulted by some dunderhead duke o' limbs?" Sam narrowed his brows at the strange insult.

"I haven't said anything that wasn't true."

"That ain't the point, boy. If you wanna get on my good side you better clean up your attitude."

Sam scoffed. "You think I wanna get on your good side? You're a witch. If I was here on _any_ other business I'd be hunting you."

The twisted glower on Willadeene's face indicated one of two things: either she was about to throw down with Sam, or she was about to throw them out. Before either of those things happened, Frankie spoke up, her voice loud and firm.

"So you guys were friends." Willadeene's eye flicked over to Frankie. "My mom and you."

She held her gaze on the witch until the older woman relaxed. Her shoulders were still rigid with irritation, but she otherwise soothed herself to answer the girl's question. "Yes. We were. Best friends."

"Best friends?" Frankie echoed, raising a lone brow in disbelief. "My mom had many friends. But _you_ were the best?"

"You say it like it's hard to believe." Frankie shrugged. Willadeene sighed. "Look, y'all. I'm a nice soul. When you get to know me, I'm nice." She blinked her glare over to Sam. "You just gotta get passed a few things about me to see. In the beginnin', Sierra saw me as the only one who could help her through her li'l predicament. Nothin' more. I was the one who could tell her everythin' was alright when it wasn't."

She looked down to her fingers. "But then… I dunno. Somethin' happened. She forgot about the whole witch part of me and… and she saw me for who I was. Not a two hundred somethin' year old witch, but a kind person who could listen and understand. Frankie, your momma was scared to death. Scared _of_ death. All I did was give her a shoulder to cry on and an ear to talk to. And, yes. Along the way I became more than that. I became a friend. A very good friend."

Willadeene shook her head and blinked her eyes, forcing tears back into their ducts, as she brought her cup to her lips. Frankie stared down into her own cup, meeting eyes with her reflection.

"Well. Now that we got that outta the way," the witch sighed, "y'all must be hungry. Whuduya say I fix y'all something to eat?"

"No, that's fine. We ate a little while ago," Sam pointed out. "But if you would be so kind," Willadeene sneered at his conceited tone, "you can point me in the direction of your bathroom." He tried to hold it, but tea on top of a lengthy drive didn't do him any favors.

Willadeene perked an eyebrow up. "Can I?" she sarcastically spat. "Up the stairs and to the left. The door beside the staircase. _Don't_ go up there."

Sam suppressed a roll of his eyes and rose out of his chair. Before he left, he tugged the demon-killing knife from his jacket and tossed it in his hand, catching the blade and presenting the handle to Frankie. It was heavily implied for her to use it if Willadeene decided to get hostile while he was gone, and this did the trick in pissing her off. Sam kept the satisfaction to himself. Before she could grumble about not being dangerous yet again, Sam left Frankie with the witch while he took care of his nearly bursting bladder.

The witch shook her head. "That boy. Not sure how you put up with his egotistic ass." The older woman made idle noises of disapproval as she set her teacup down on the coffee table in front of her.

"Can you do it?"

Willadeene's eyebrows furrowed. Frankie's voice didn't sound like it had minutes before. It was still sharp and discomfited, but those four words held an unspoken vehemence that rubbed the witch the wrong way.

"Do what, baby?" As it turned out, Frankie's eyes had the same emotion. The hairs on the back of Willadeene's neck bristled.

"Contact my mother."

Willadeene was physically taken aback, leaning into the plush of her chair. She blinked, her one exposed eye displaying all the emotion needed to show raw disbelief and insult. "What-… why would you-… why would you ask me somethin' like that?"

"You said it yourself, Willadeene. It's not like we can just dial up my mom and talk to her." Frankie set her jaw and leaned forward, eyeing the witch with a lethal glint in her pupils. "Unless we can."

"What are you implyin', Frankie?"

The girl flicked her eyes to the floor, raising her eyebrows as her voice took on a casual tone. "I'm simply implying that, seeing as you're a witch powerful enough to enchant a machete with the ability to _kill demons_ and ward off _reapers_ , it shouldn't be too hard for you to contact a soul from beyond the grave." With a lethargic blink, Frankie's grim glare dug into Willadeene's single iris. "Am I wrong?"

The witch held up a firm finger beyond her matching glower. "First of all, I don't like your tone."

"Noted."

" _Secondly_ , why do you wanna know?"

"I have a few questions I need to ask her. No offense to you, but I can't trust a single word that's come out of your mouth since I walked through your door. You're a witch. Good person or not, there's always the 'what-if'. And I've dealt with more than enough demons in the past few weeks to let my guard down just because a witch has a photograph of my dead mother."

"Fine. I get it." The older woman sank into her chair, scowling off to the side. "You don't gotta trust me. We just met. You ain't happy with me knowing your momma all these years. There's some hostility." Her eye darted back to the girl. "Do you realize what you're askin' me, Frankie?"

"I'm asking it, aren't I?"

"Y'know, that's the same kinda attitude your momma had when she asked me to reverse her contract."

"So, what? You gunna throw me out?"

"I could. I won't, but I could." Frankie huffed out a haughty snort as she leaned back into her chair. "I just-… I don't understand, Frankie. What could possibly be so important that you'd wanna do somethin' so reckless?"

The muscles of Frankie's jaw constricted as she bit back against the rising fury. "Maybe I wanna ask her why she lied to me all these years. Maybe I wanna ask her why _she_ did something so reckless." She closed her eyes, making a weak attempt to calm the restless storm inside her. "Maybe I wanna ask why my life was so important that she had to _destroy_ hers." When her eyes reopened, the rage within them was diluted, but very much still there. "Name the price. I don't care how much. It's my mother's money anyway."

Willadeene breathed out a humorless chuckle. "I'm not doin' it, Frankie."

"So you _can_ do it."

The witch bit back the regret of revealing the option. "Your momma's in Hell, Frankie. If she was just dead it'd be easy."

"I don't care if it's difficult," Frankie snapped. "I'm just asking if it's possible." The girl watched the witch's chest lift as it drew in a deep breath and sink as she exhaled.

"It might be. I can't exactly say that I've experience with contacting tortured souls in Hell, but there might be somethin' in here that would help. But I'm not doin' it."

" _Why_?" Frankie barked.

"Because it's not right, Frankie!" The rancorous voice of Willadeene echoed across the walls. The sudden outburst caused the python around the witch to quicken its slow slither out of the argument. "Disturbin' what shouldn't be disturbed is bad enough, but do you realize what would have to be done to carry out this li'l plan of yours? To summon a spirit for communication can be done with a séance, but a soul in Hell can't be reached so simply."

"How so?"

"There has to be a tear, a puncture between earth and Hell, before contacting someone under the possession of demons. Think of it like ice fishin'. You can't catch anythin' with the rod if there ain't no hole in the ice to fit it through. You can imagine what kinda chaos could be caused by such a method."

"But others have done it before, right?"

"That's not the point. We don't even know what could happen if we tried to contact her. The spell could try to transport her here. If that happens any number of things could go wrong. A demon could come with her, or one may try to bring her back, and it's possible that it could warp her soul."

"Warp?"

Willadeene brought her hand up to rub an aching temple. "I've seen it before. Wish I hadn't. Sometimes souls just can't take it. When a spell goes wrong, not done by a professional, it can have devastatin' effects." Frankie's eyes drifted down into her lap, weighing the words of Willadeene. "Don't you see, baby? Even if we were to go through with a spell, there's a very small chance this comes out good."

Frankie nodded her head, letting in a great sigh and releasing it as she met eyes with the witch. "Name your price."

Willadeene couldn't even bring it in her to argue anymore. Anger presented itself in shear disappointment. "You are your momma's child."

"Willadeene, please. I _need_ to speak with my mother. If I don't… if I don't I'll never know the truth. No matter how many stories you tell me, no matter how many pictures you show me, I'm not gunna take your word for it. I need to know. I need to. And I'll do whatever it takes to know."

Willadeene sighed. "Even go to another witch upon my refusal?" Frankie pressed her lips together, a burdened glint in her eyes. "Don't answer that," the witch huffed. She linked her stubby fingers together in her lap. The few silent seconds that followed felt heavy. "Why the hell do I let you Pearce's bully me into these things?" The hampered green eye closed with a troubled sigh from the woman. "If anyone's gunna bring my friend back into this world it's gunna be me." Frankie's entire body perked up in near disbelief. "There's no way in Hades I'm lettin' some two-bit witch asshat have a go at Sierra. And if you're dead set on disturbin' her afterlife… I'll do it. But it's gunna cost you big, you hear me?"

Frankie spoke with an even tone and level eyes. "Loud and clear."

Sam entered the room, pointing his eyes over to the chairs. His heart skipped a beat when he found them empty. His mind immediately ran through the worst possible outcomes that ended in his sister's disappearance, but before he could reach his gun resting in his jacket the witch and Frankie made themselves known with the sound of glasses clinking.

They were standing over in front of the shelves of ingredients across the room. Sam let out a heavy relieved sigh. He made his way over to the other side of the basement, stepping around a round table and maneuvering passed a few strange artifacts. When he reached the two women, he noticed that Frankie was holding a dark red bowl in her arms. Narrowing his eyes, he switched his gaze to Willadeene, who was dragging her fingers over labels on glass jars filled with questionable items.

"What's going on here?" he asked, an unsure and wary undertone to his words.

"I've been commissioned," the witch huffed, taking a small jar from a high shelf.

' _Commissioned_ ,' Sam mouthed. And then he understood. His eyes grew wide, his head swiveling over to his sister. She didn't look at him. "What is she talking about?" No answer. "Frankie, _what_ is she talking about?!"

Finally, the girl swallowed and swung her head over to him, forcing a stern tint into her expression. "I hired Willadeene to make a spell for me," she answered as if it were nothing at all.

"A _spell_?!" Frankie shut her eyes at the steely sound of Sam's voice. The man stepped back and shoved his hands into his sides, making an attempt to calm the anger quickly rising under his skin. He lowered his voice as a poor form of chaos control. "Are you serious?"

The sound of Sam's voice, the low growl to his words, replaced her faux fury with an underlay of fear. It sounded too much like his voice in the panic room. Despite it, though, she held a firm front.

"Frankie, you _know_ better than this! She's a witch! And you're asking her to make a spell for you?!"

"Yeah, Sam. I am." The girl nearly charged at the man to get in his face, but it only took a single glance at his height to dock that idea.

Her brother pursed his lips against his anger. He tried to cool his voice to sound leveled, but it was easier said than done. "What spell?" It was even harder to keep calm when she refused to answer his question. Willadeene spoke up before he could.

"She wants to speak to Sierra."

Sam snapped his head over to the witch. He scowled. He whipped his head back down to Frankie. His scowl hardened.

"No. No, no, that's a _terrible_ idea, Frankie! Your mom-!" He paused to lower his voice. "Your mom is in Hell. There's no way to speak to her from here."

"Willadeene says there is."

"Willadeene?! Willadeene is-!"

"A witch?" the older woman interrupted. Her sharp voice made it clear that she was tired of hearing him say it.

"Exactly! For all you know she could be _working_ with demons!"

"And if she isn't? Sam, I don't have a lot of options. And there's no way to possibly know the truth unless we ask her."

"The truth? About what? The machete?! It's just a blade, Frankie!"

"That can kill demons! You're telling me you don't wanna know how it can do that?"

Sam shook his head. He leaned back, standing at his full height. "There's something else. This doesn't have anything to do with the machete, does it?" He watched Frankie's chest rise and fall in a deep sigh, and then he knew.

"I just need to ask her a few things. Just a few questions and then… and then she can go back to Hell. I swear."

"The answer's no, Frankie. Shut this down."

"Wouldn't you wanna speak to Mary?"

Sam felt as though he had been shot in the chest. He would have stumbled backwards if he didn't catch himself. _'How do you know her name?'_ he went to ask, but his mouth refused to move, his voice refused to speak.

That was an excruciatingly low blow. He may have not ever met his mother in the flesh, but he still felt the burning pain from her memory. The first time he ever saw her since he was an infant was as a ghost, a spirit that gave up her life force to save him and Dean. That whole event messed him up for such a long time. He still wasn't over it. And then that brought up Frankie's question. Would he want to speak to his mother again – when she wasn't a demon blood-induced hallucination? Just imagining it sparked up an unholy union of sorrow and pain.

"How would you feel," the girl continued, "if your own mother gave up her soul – everything she was – so that you could live? That she chose to die for you? How would you feel knowing that she died so that you could turn out like you did? How would you feel if you had to live on not knowing why you were so valued over her life?"

He had the answer to every single one of those questions. The answer was heart-wrenchingly guilty.

"Look," Frankie spoke with a laden sigh, her voice quiet and soothing. She stepped forward, removing a hand from the bowl and resting it on his arm. Sam glanced down to the comforting hand. He was surprised, to say the least, that she would make such a gesture to him. "You can sit in during the whole process. You're sorta an expert with these things, so… when you think things aren't going the way they should you can shut it down. Okay?"

"Frankie, believe me. You don't want this. Some things should be left alone. The dead need to stay at rest."

"Rest? _Rest_?!" Sam winced at his poor wording. "What kind of bullshit logic do you run on that insinuates souls in Hell are at rest?! My mother is burning- _roasting_ down there! She's not at rest!" Sam went to try and reason with her, but her fuming form kept his words at bay. With a few noisy breaths, however, Frankie's rage calmed some. "I can't save my mom. She dug her grave and now she's lying in it. But she's got some explaining to do, and I need to hear it." With a quivering lip and a squeeze of his arm, Frankie's voice lowered to a vulnerable whisper. "I just need to know. Sam, I know this isn't right, but I don't have a choice. Please, Sam. I need to know. I need you to understand, to believe me." She swallowed. Sam's eyes narrowed on her bobbing throat. "I need my brother to believe me."

His eyes flicked up into her own, his mouth slightly parted in surprise at the word. She called him her brother. That was a step into forgiveness, right?

No… no, he had to stay on task. He couldn't allow her referring to him as her brother deter him from doing what was right.

He went to refuse one last time, but he found that he just couldn't. Not when she was holding his arm like he was a human being. Not when she was looking up at him with her glistening honey-colored eyes burdened with grief that he had only seen before in the mirror.

He hated the idea. He hated everything about it. He knew it would end horribly, with either them harmed – or killed – or Frankie emotionally scarred. What kind of brother would he be if he let that happen?

But here he was considering it. Not because he thought it was a good idea, but because letting her go through with it would make her happy. And he was supposed to make her happy, right? To trade in her disgust at his previous mistakes for proof that he could be the guy who doesn't ruin everything he's involved with? After all, Dean did say to give her whatever she needed. She said she needed this.

"I'm not agreeing to anything… _until_ ," Frankie's brows quirked up at the settling word, "I know exactly what the spell does, what the incantations are, and the ingredients that go with it. If I think _anything_ is a recipe for a disaster I'm pulling the plug. And I mean the _second_ I'm not convinced this is damage-free, I'm calling it quits. And I will."

Frankie sent him a small relieved grin. "Deal," she breathed. He lifted a corner of his mouth, but there was no smile in it. When Frankie turned around to where Sam couldn't see, her face evened out, her eyes dried up, as if nothing had just happened.

Frankie stood next to Willadeene as she rummaged through the many jars of rare and particularly gross items. "Where do you get all this stuff?" the girl asked, holding a small jar of toad testicles.

"That's classified," the witch idly answered. She handed Frankie two medium sized containers that were labeled 'frontal lobe of an Israeli calf' and 'urine of a black cat.' The latter was more alarming when Frankie really took note of the dark yellow liquid inside. "Uh…," was all she muttered before Willadeene answered her unspoken question.

"Urine is a very potent and powerful tool for black magic. Black cats are believed to travel between the realms of earth and the underworld. At least in some regions they are. The combination of the two are just what a spell like this needs. Now go put that over on the table."

Frankie shook her head, not questioning it further, and walked over to the round table to set down the jars next to the dark red bowl. She didn't make eye contact with Sam, who was sitting at the table and examining each ingredient that was placed on the table. Each jar had more troubling items than the last, and Frankie grew worrisome that the next one would be enough for her brother to pull the plug on her plan.

Frankie walked back over to Willadeene. The woman was no longer looking at the shelves and had opened a large, scuffed and worn chest next to them. Inside the chest was a hodgepodge of random-looking things. A woven bag, fraying from the flannel cloth, and a plastic bag with large black writing in sharpie spelling out 'burial cloth' on it were the most notable.

Willadeene shoved much of the chest's contents to the side in her searching state and from her doing so a small, round object thudded against the wall of the chest. Frankie narrowed her eyes and reached into the chest to grab the hard oval object. She moved it up and down in her hand, weighing the slightly hefty thing.

"What is this?" she asked, turning the white and gray thing this way and that. Willadeene turned her head, her eyes going cold at the sight of it.

"Gimme that." The witch didn't snatch it out of her hand, even though her voice hinted that she wanted to, and instead held out her palm for the girl to hand it over. Frankie was hesitant, but set it down in the woman's calloused fingers.

"Is that also classified?"

"Yes. And very dangerous. You got no business pawin' at it with your grubby fingers." Frankie looked down at her hands, not seeing what was so 'grubby' about them. "Here. Put this over there."

The witch finally found what she was looking for, a small knife, plain aside from a few carvings on the handle, but sharp to the slightest touch. Frankie took it with less care than needed and practically tossed it onto the tabletop.

While this went on, Sam decided to check on how Dean was doing. A little more than an hour had passed. They traveled from Hollis County to Parrish in around forty-five minutes, so he must have gotten there by now.

He walked over to the basement door and took out his phone, flipping it open and dialing his brother. In approximately two rings, Dean's snarky voice filtered through the cell.

"Hey, Sam. How's it going with Glinda and Dorothy?"

Sam scoffed. "I'm about ready to be crushed by a house." Dean snorted. "Have you found out anything on the… the problem?"

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "Tons. I just got done with my research. I practically know the house's whole story since its first brick." He began to relay his findings as if he were reading off bullet points. "It was built by this guy, Doug Hopper, back in nineteen twenty-seven. He lived there for about thirty years with his wife, Jerrell, had kids, a family. Then when the kids moved away he sold it to a single father with two rug rats. In nineteen sixty-three the dad died in a five car pileup coming back from a camping trip with his buddies in the Smokey's. The two kids were placed in an orphanage and the house was empty for three more years.

" _Then_ , either some stupid kids or some random kook – the documents weren't too clear on which – set fire to the house. Wasn't burned down, just damaged to hell and back. It stays that way until it's deemed an eyesore, restored in nineteen seventy-eight. Goes on the market for two years, then a truck rams through the porch. Another year of refurbishment, and _then_ a woman finally purchases the house under the name – get this – Francine Pearce."

Sam humorlessly snorted. "That sounds familiar."

"Right? Nineteen eighty-two, Francine Pearce buys the house as a late graduation present for her daughter _Sierra Pearce_. The house is occupied by her and her daughter – born in nineteen eighty-seven – until her untimely death in two thousand and nine. The house goes on the market once the daughter goes missing, and finally we're left with the current owners Paul and Vera Talbot."

"Uh, wow. That's a lot of research for such a short time."

"Yeah, well, research on home ownership goes fast when there's never been more than a population of two hundred in the entire county."

"Fair point." Sam looked over his shoulder, spotting Frankie standing next to Willadeene and muttering small conversation. When he was sure she wouldn't be listening, he turned back around and lowered his voice. "So what are you thinking? Maybe the single father? He died in a pretty violent way. Maybe he had some ties to the house."

"Eh, but that doesn't line up with Vera's claim. She said a dark haired woman was standing in her hallway. Not a man."

Sam nodded. "Maybe… Francine? Frankie's grandmother?"

"It never said she lived in the house."

"Well, Sierra might've inherited some family heirloom that could be keeping her grounded there."

"Maybe."

"Well, did it say Jerrell Hopper died in the house?"

"No. She and her husband moved away to Mississippi. Both were cremated when they died."

Sam huffed. Things weren't looking good for them. They had one possibility, but no solid ground. "Dean… maybe this one's just a dud."

"Dud?"

"Yeah. Y'know, it was a long night, there might've been some drinking involved… Maybe Vera just thought she saw something."

"And how does that explain the EMF?"

"Radio waves? Maybe someone was making a call at the time? Maybe it was the electricity from the TV or kitchen appliances. I'm just saying, maybe we should call this one."

"Huh. Just leave it? Take the risk?"

"It doesn't seem violent, whatever it is," Sam reasoned with a shrug. "We have bigger things to worry about. One _possible_ ghost sighting isn't worth the trouble."

"Hm," Dean hummed. "We need to be sure. Don't want anyone getting hurt because we weren't careful. I'm gunna stick around, investigate the house. I'll get them out somehow and run some tests. If nothing comes up, I'll head back over."

Sam sighed, wanting his brother to just let the case go, but he agreed and hung up anyway. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he turned around and walked back over to the round table. Willadeene wasn't far behind and sat herself down in one of the three chairs surrounding it. Frankie followed suit.

"So is this everything?" Sam asked the witch. He grabbed a glass jar and turned it around to investigate the substance within it.

"Almost."

Frankie stared sideways at her brother, waiting for his verdict on the ingredients. He sat back with an almost defeated sigh. "What are the incantations?" Frankie let out an unnoticeable sigh of her own, this one in relief. One step passed. Willadeene began dropping the ingredients into the bowl as she answered him.

"Well, it's a construction of certain different spells, but it should do the trick. _Audite me_ , _abyssus abyssum invocate_ , _aures levare_ , _reditus anima eius_ , _confirma meam_ , _surrecturus sit quod erit independens_."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed the further she got into the incantation. By the end of the spell, he was glaring. "Wait. You want her to ' _rise and be independent_ '? What kind of spell is this? Are you trying to get us killed?!"

"Would you calm yourself? Damn!" Sam cocked his head back at her readied attitude. Frankie lifted her own brows at the commanding tone. "The point of ' _rising_ ' is to lift her from Hell's chains, and we want her to be ' _independent_ ' so that she's not tethered to a demon. You understand, _Duke_?"

Sam scoffed. There was that insult again. "What the hell does 'duke' mean?" Willadeene didn't answer his question, and merely quirked a brow at him.

"Once we merge the ingredients and when the incantation is given, one more element is added and then it's bound with fire. I'll toss this candle into the bowl and it will ignite, _hopefully_ summoning Sierra."

"Hopefully?" Frankie exclaimed. "We need a guarantee. That's what I'm paying for."

"Well, _darlin'_ , we can't be certain this'll work. After all, how many times has a soul been _summoned_ from _hell_ before?" The witch shook her head and retuned her glare to Sam. "If it goes through, Sierra will able to communicate for as long as the fire burns."

"And she won't be violent? Or vengeful?"

"As long as it's done by someone who knows what they're doin' it shouldn't alter her. Unless the demons already did that."

Sam's glower hardened. "Woah, woah. What do you mean by that?"

"Torture in Hell… there ain't a lot of info on it, but from what can be determined heavy torture on a soul has drastic effects. There's no way to tell whether or not she's been changed until she gets here."

"Okay," Sam sighed, standing from his chair. "That settles it. Shut this down."

Frankie's brows yanked together. She was so close. She held a hand over the bowl of sloshed ingredients. "But she's only been dead for a couple months. That's not enough time for her to be warped." She snapped her glare over to Willadeene. "Right?!" She was asking for confirmation rather than an actual answer.

"Frankie, it's too risky. We can't go through with this unless we're absolutely sure."

"We're _never_ going to be sure," she growled, slowly turning her head back to her brother. "There was always gunna be a risk. And I'm willing to take it to talk to my mother again."

Sam stared down at his sister, if he could call her that. Her face was overtaken with grief and anger. The creases between her brows, the ferocious frown that painted her face in a primal expression, they looked so unlike the innocent girl he knew in that diner. It looked so unlike the frightened face he saw in the window of the panic room. It looked so unlike the frail form sitting on top of a hospital bed. This hurt, damaged girl sitting before him was barely the Frankie he knew.

"Willadeene," she snarled, "continue."

" _Hey_ ," Sam growled, slamming a hand on the table. "I said I would allow this if it was damage-free. Well it's not. As long as I'm standing here, this isn't happening, Frankie."

The girl spread her fingers on the table, slowly lifting herself out of her chair to get as close to his face as she could. "Then get. Out."

Sam couldn't believe it. After all Dean had said he thought she knew better than to go through with something so dangerous. Maybe Dean had her wrong.

"What happened to you?" His eyes flicked down to her bared teeth.

"Why don't you ask my mother?" Sam shook his head. It was all he could do. "I'm doing this. With or without you. If it makes you feel better to stay and watch, be my guest. But this is happening. Willadeene, _continue_."

The witch flicked her eye between the girl and her brother. Her eye lingered on Sam. Something in that single pupil told him that she didn't want this to happen anymore than he did. Nonetheless, she sighed and picked up the knife.

"I need the final ingredient."

"Which is?" Frankie snapped, still riding on the heated aura that smothered her.

"The blood of the soul. Her blood." Frankie darted her eyes over to the woman, momentarily infuriated at the impossible feat. Willadeene pressed her lips into a line at her ignorance. " _Your_ blood."

Sam huffed and leaned forward on the table. That was where he drew the line. Nothing could be remotely good if fresh blood needed to be drawn. "Frankie-"

The girl snatched the knife from the witch's hand and, before either of them could react, sliced her wrist in one quick slash. Sam stood, mouth agape, words lost on the tip of his tongue, as he watched his little sister hold her hand into a fist and bend it over the bowl, biting through the pain while thin rivulets of glistening, crimson blood streamed from the wound.

"Frankie!" Sam yelled, clutching the girl's bleeding arm. He pulled it away from the bowl and frantically looked around for something to hold against her gushing wrist. Frankie yanked her arm away from him, but he held on tight. "This's gone too far. I'm calling Dean. We're leaving."

"No! Sam! _Let me go_!"

"No! I'm not letting you go! Geez, Frankie, of all the stupid things you could've possibly done-!"

"I didn't ask you to intervene! I don't care what you think about this, I need to do it! You don't understand!"

"What don't I understand?! What, that you want to bleed yourself dry all for the sake of _possibly_ seeing your mom again! It won't work that way!"

"Y-You _don't_! _Know_! _That_!"

"Frankie, I'm one of the only people who _do_ know that! Your mom is in Hell! She's dead! And no amount of cow brains or cat piss is gunna bring her back!" Frankie's breath puffed out in spurts of enraged anguish, tears glittering her pink cheeks. "Why do you need this?! What could _possibly_ be _so_ important to ask your mom that you would willingly slit your wrist for her?!" Frankie's lip drew up in a quiver. "What if she saw you doing this, Frankie? Think about how she'd feel!"

"You _can't_ _know_ how she'd feel!"

"But you can. You knew her best. Tell me. Honestly. How would she react to you doing this?" The girl's response was another hard yank of her bleeding arm. Sam held on tighter. He pulled her forward, bringing her face closer to his to try and force sense into the girl. "She'd be sad, right? Angry, maybe? _Furious_."

If looks could kill, Frankie's would have been nuclear. "You have no right talking about her like that. You don't know anything about her! You can't insinuate how she would feel!"

"How can you _not_ think that's how she would feel?! Your mom loved you, Frankie! She provided for you and only you! She did everything for you!"

" _I did everything for her_!" Frankie's roaring voice bounced off of every wall. " _I_ did _everything_ for _her_! Me! She got sick! She was dying! And what did she do?! Nothing! She laid back and took it! Just like that! I searched city after city – county after county – for a willing donor! And when nothing came up, I looked somewhere else for a cure! While she tossed and turned in pain, I stayed awake for _days_ trying to find a way to save her! I never gave up! _I_! _Did_! _Everything_! And what did my mother tell me?! Let her go. Let _her_ go. I thought she was being brave. But it wasn't bravery. It _wasn't_ bravery."

Frankie forced the words from her constricting throat, lest they be too quiet to hear. "It was cowardice. My mother was a _coward_. She knew that whole time – the whole time I struggled, _fought_ for her – that it was for nothing. She was already dead. Because it wasn't her kidneys. It was her _soul_. _My_ _mother_ was a _coward_. She sold her soul and tried to reverse her mistake, not because she was worried about _me_. Because she was _scared_. Willadeene, you said it yourself. She was scared of death. Of Hell. She tried to back out of it, and when she couldn't, she killed herself. Does that sound like bravery to you?"

Frankie's eyes were so swollen that scowling was impossible. Grief was the only emotion that would fit. With a wet sniff, she spoke again, her voice barely anything but a tremble. "I did everything for her. Why would she lie to me? To _me_?"

The moment her shoulders broke out into a violent shudder – her sobs finally breaking free – Sam grasped them and shoved them into his body. Frankie curled into his chest, crying out in raspy, rough wails. His shirt quickly dampened with snot and tears, but he didn't care in the slightest. He swathed his arms tighter around his sister, squeezing a little more with every heave of her sorrowful chest. He pressed his cheek to the frayed hairs of her head and shoved down his remaining anger with a tightened jaw.

Frankie flattened her hands against his chest and rested her forehead between them. She shook her head. "Why would she lie to me?" she gasped out. "Why would she-… why… why would-? To me?"

Images of her and her mother together, years before she got sick, years before she sold her soul, flashed behind her eyelids. Each image passed, and each image reminded her of her mother's many deceits. Each happy face, each wide smile and echoing laughter, brought pain and suffering instead of sadness and pity. Each happy face made her fists grow tighter. " _Why_?" she growled, clutching Sam's shirt between her fingers. "I need to know why. I need to know _why_."

Before Sam could fully register her infuriated tone's return, Frankie shoved him away and pivoted around, eyeing one thing and one thing only. Her throat ripped out a horrendous snarl, her teeth bared in a frightening grimace. She clamped her fingers around the lit black candle and raised it in the air.

"No!" Willadeene cried out, but it was too late. Much too late.

Frankie threw the candle into the bowl. The second the flame touched the mixture of mysterious items the bowl ignited into a roaring fire, the heat of which forced Frankie to step back.

There was a moment, a quiet, still moment where nothing happened. There was a moment that seemed like the spell was a dud. There was a moment where Sam and Willadeene connected eyes, wondering if the spell had actually worked. There was a moment where Frankie wondered if maybe doing what she did was actually as good an idea as she thought seconds before.

But that moment passed. And when it did, a flickering buzz sounded in each of their ears. A buzzing sound that flittered right behind the spell caster.

"Frankie?"

The girl in question stood ramrod straight. That wasn't Willadeene's voice, and it certainly wasn't Sam's. Without a breath breathed, she twisted around, snapping her head towards the phantom voice.

Her mother stood in front of her, looking the way she did the night she killed herself. Her gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes barely resembled any photograph Willadeene had in her house. And more importantly the look of utter horror painted on her face was one Frankie never wanted to see. And what was worse was that it was pointed right at her.

"H-How… how could you do this?"

"What do you-?" was all Frankie could mutter until her mother flicked her eyes to the table behind her. She didn't need to follow her eyes to know that she was gawking at the lit bowl that had made her appear.

Sierra flicked her eyes back into Frankie's. Pure anguish filled the honey irises exactly like her own. Denial, pain, and disappointment flashed all at once across her features, but why would she have those emotions? She should be wrapping her arms around her daughter. She should be telling her how good it is to see her. She should be happy to see her, happy that she brought her back! Frankie just raised her from Hell!

… Didn't she?

Just as that thought passed in her mind, the visage of her mother violently twitched as if she had been shocked by a Taser. The look of horror evolved into utter panic. Frankie finally found her breath and sucked it into her lungs as Sierra's ghost twisted and jerked as she wailed out in fright and agony. She grew chinks and tears over the skin of her arms, her legs, her face. Her eyes – god, her eyes – gushed blood and cracked the skin it touched.

Willadeene slapped the bowl of ingredients onto the floor and threw a blanket on top of the fire. She stomped on the flames, extinguishing them with her powerful foot. She snapped her head up, expecting to see Sierra's ghost disappear. She was still there.

And in one vicious jerk, Sierra's apparition bent back and cried out like a banshee. The three humans in the room covered their ears and shut their eyes at the piercing blast and blinding light that overwhelmed their senses.

The earsplitting scream quieted. The blinding light faded. When all seemed quiet and still, Sam, Frankie, and Willadeene opened their eyes and uncovered their ears. They looked around the room. Sierra was gone. Little was left of her presence there. Knocked over statues and strewn books peppered the floor near where she stood, but everything else was as it once was.

"What… the hell," Sam breathed out in shock, "… was that?!"

" _That_ was exactly what I warned y'all about." Sam turned his head over to the witch. Frankie continued to stare where she had just seen her mother. "That was a soul warpin' into a violent and lethal spirit. I told you a professional should handle the spell. Now look what you've gone and done!" Frankie hadn't known Willadeene's proximity until the witch sank her nails into her shoulders. She looked into the witch's eye, her own now filled with new fear. "You just damned your mother's soul! Worse than the demons already had! If they had at all!"

"Woah, hold on!" Sam exclaimed, stepping between the two women. "What are you talking about?"

Willadeene kept glaring at Frankie. "You heard her. You saw how she looked at the table. That wasn't the face of someone who just got back from Hell."

"You think she… but she sold her soul. She _had_ to go to Hell." Willadeene merely shook her head at Frankie, disappointment and anger on her face just as it was on her mother's. "Fine, don't answer me, but where did she _go_?" Sam asked impatiently.

"In my experience, warped souls go back to where they're most familiar. Usually that's their-"

"Home…," Sam's eyes widened in realization. "Dean."

* * *

"Dammit. _Come on_ ," he scolded, shaking the EMF device in his hand. He had been searching for what felt like hours for the signal they received the night before. So far, it picked up nothing. Well, it picked up a light electrical signal from the TV, but nothing more.

He crept to the far end of the hallway, hoping to hear the slightest whine from the device. Nothing. Sighing, he turned around and paced the hall again.

He got lucky with the house. When he parked across the street, he had been thinking up a good excuse to get the family out, but just as he found a decent plot they appeared on the porch. The three of them – Vera, her husband, and their kid – were nicely dressed and looked ready for a fun night out. Maybe to catch a movie or grab a bite to eat. Whatever the reason, they left and Dean had the coincidental opportunity to pick the lock and let himself in. It was for the greater good anyway. He wasn't caught, and it wasn't as surprising as it seemed. The nearest house was a mile down the road.

Now he was slowly wandering the carpeted floors, swinging the device this way and that to find any trace of a ghost that might have been there. He was confident that he'd find something – anything – to go on, but as the minutes ticked on, that confidence sagged.

He was hanging onto a hope. He hoped that there was actually a ghost, that there was a case. He wanted to solve that case, and he wanted to feel the rush of satisfaction that came with it. He wanted a victory, even just a small one. There had been so many losses, so many defeats. If he had smoked just one ghost it would have made a huge relief, but it seemed his luck wasn't so great.

His phone chimed a high-pitched ring, shocking him out of his gloomy thoughts. He huffed as he lowered the EMF and took his phone out of his pocket. He cleared his throat when he saw Sam's name on the screen and let out a burdened breath before forcing confidence into his voice.

"Hey, Sam. What's-"

"Dean!" He jerked the phone away from his ear when Sam's voice yelled into it. "Where are you?!"

"Uh… Frankie's house?" He picked up on a faint rumble behind his brother's voice. "Are you in a truck?"

"Get out of the house _now_."

Dean narrowed his eyes and leaned a shoulder against the wall. "What's going on?" he asked, a serious tone lining his gruff voice.

"No time to explain, just _get out_."

"I _can't_ , Sam. I haven't finished casing the joint. The Talbots are gone and I don't know how long it'll be before they get back. I have to make sure the ghost is gone. If it was ever here."

"Dean, that's not the ghost you need to be worrying about!"

He tightened his jaw and pushed himself off of the wall. "What the hell are you talking about?" he grumbled. "What ghost?"

If Sam answered, he didn't hear it. His brother's voice was drowned out by the severe crying of the EMF device. He looked down to the flashing lights, blazing as if something were right on top of him.

Dean was shoved hard from behind. The force behind the push was enough to send him flying into the next wall over before falling hard against the floor. The air was knocked out of his lungs, and it wasn't until he lifted himself up by his elbows that he gasped and refilled them. He coughed and turned his head over to the hallway. His eyes widened.

There, standing resolutely in the hallway, was a thin woman with dark hair, cracked gray skin, and dressed in a long, blue nightgown. "I'm guessing he meant you," he gasped out. The specter's response was a shrill scream as it charged on him.

He quickly rolled to the side before it could grab his jacket, and he frantically reached for his shotgun. His fingers curled around the gun, but phantom fingers curled around his ankles and yanked him across the room into the dining table. He fell into a jumble of chairs, though still holding his shotgun. Shoving back the pain from new bleeding scratches, he pulled up his gun and fired at the ghost.

He missed, and instead made a large hole into the wall behind it. There was a moment in the still air where the ghost stared at the hole and then slowly turned her glare over to Dean, clear insult in her pupils. "Oops," he blurted with wide eyes.

The ghost woman bellowed a growl as she gave a swing of her arm. Dean found his gun ripping out of his hand into the wall next to him. His head snapped over to it, and he was caught off guard when he himself was grabbed by invisible hands and heaved across the room into the stone of the fireplace.

He hit the jagged rock hard. He felt a pop in his chest. No doubt a cracked rib. He let out a hampered groan as he reached for the can of salt in his jacket pocket. But just as his fingers brushed the tin container, his chest burst with fiery agony.

The ghost woman pressed her hand into his chest, digging her fingers into his skin. His lungs, his ribs, and his heart felt as though a thousand fingers were squeezing, twisting, snapping them apart. He let out pained moans as his eyes flicked up to the spirits. He connected eyes with it. Green eyes into honey eyes. Honey eyes… that looked familiar.

He tore his them away and forced them to the side. They landed on the collection of fireplace tools, all made of solid iron. With a croaking grunt, he snatched one and, with all the might in him, jabbed it into the ghost's form. She went up in smoke with a squeal the moment it stabbed into her side.

His lungs forced out a guttural sigh of relief as the pain subsided, but didn't disappear. He placed a hand on his side, experimentally probing a rib that was definitely fractured at the least.

His eyes drifted across the room, finding his phone discarded on the floor. His throat puffed a series of grunts as he stood to his feet. He gritted his teeth against the pain as he bent down and brought the phone to his ear.

"Sam?" he grunted.

"Dean! What happened?!"

"I think that ghost you were talking about happened."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. You mind telling me what the hell is going on? Who was that?"

"Dean, it's Sierra!"

He took a moment to furrow his brows and shake his head. "Frankie's mom? No, she's in Hell, Sam. That can't be her."

"Skinny? Dark hair? Blue nightgown?"

"Uh… yeah. Exactly."

"Definitely Sierra."

"No, Sam, she sold her soul. That's a contract. Contracts are final. How can she be _here_ as a _ghost_ if she sold her soul?!"

"It's a long story. I'll tell you later. Just get out of the house before she reforms and meet us where she's buried. Frankie, where's she buried?" Dean listened on the line for his sister's voice. He couldn't hear it. " _Frankie_!" Dean opened his mouth to scold Sam for being so rough with her, but the words died when her voice mumbled into the phone. "Okay," Sam returned, "meet us at Taylor Memorial Cemetery on Palmer Street. We'll be there soon."

"Wait, Sam!"

* * *

Sam closed his phone with a snap and shoved it back into his pocket. He turned to Willadeene in the driver's seat. "Step on it!" he commanded. Instead of her usual remark and insult, she pressed down onto the gas, speeding her truck down the empty roads.

Frankie sat quiet in the backseat, staring down into her lap. All the anger and determination that she previously displayed had diminished the instant she heard her mother's panicked voice. She couldn't stop think about it. Something in her voice wasn't right. And it wasn't just the spell's work doing it.

But it was the spell's work that turned her into a beast that just attacked her brother. Because of her anger, she warped her mother's soul. Because of her anger, she turned her mother into a monster.

"What did I do?" she quietly mumbled. Sam nearly chocked her voice up as the truck's noisy rumbling, but he knew it couldn't have been. "Why would I… do that?"

Sam knew why. She was impulsive. She was stubborn and angry and damaged to hell and back.

Just like him.

He opened his mouth and took in a breath, ready to tell her to not think about it and focus on stopping her mother from hurting anyone else, but he didn't. He closed his mouth. He knew that she would continue to fester about her mistake until the day she died. Just like him.

Sam continued to bark orders to hurry it up for miles down the road, until they finally made it to Taylor Memorial in just less than thirty minutes. Sure they had to speed passed a few stop signs and they nearly ran over a cow in the process, but they made it in good time.

The truck heaved to a stop just outside of the cemetery. "This is where I get off," Willadeene announced. "Go. Stop Sierra. Put her to rest. Don't screw up." Sam nodded to her before jumping out of the truck and taking off into the graveyard. Frankie watched him through the window, knowing that she should follow him, but she was glued to her seat. "Frankie," Willadeene spoke. The girl snapped her head over to the witch, waiting for another scold. But she wasn't met with the angered green eye. It was soft, but burdened. "Go put her to rest, you hear me?" Frankie blinked, but after a small moment gave her a nod and forced herself out of the truck.

As soon as Frankie's feet stepped onto the gravel, Willadeene screeched her tires in a half donut and sped back off to Parrish. Frankie stood at the entrance of the cemetery. She hadn't been there until the day her mother was buried. And now she was back, ready to put her to rest yet again. With a heavy, shaking breath, she forced her feet forward into the cemetery.

Sam spotted Dean across the graveyard and headed his way, Frankie close on his heels. "Dean!" he exclaimed. Frankie laid her eyes on the two shovels in Dean's hands. Her stomach twisted at the possible meaning behind them When they approached Dean, Sam noticed his brother's light limp and narrowed his eyebrows in concern. "Are you-?"

"Fine," Dean answered. "I'm fine. Where's her plot?"

Sam turned around and stared down at Frankie, as did Dean. She inhaled a deep breath, but instead of telling them, she pointed and took off in the direction of her mother's headstone. Dean was quick to pick up her off behavior, and he let her get a good couple dozen feet in front of him and Sam before he leaned over to his brother and spoke in a low voice.

"What's up with Frankie?"

Sam pressed his lips into a tight line until he was urged by Dean's firm and pressing gaze. "Too much to say," he finally sighed.

"Are you gunna tell me what the hell is going on now? Why are we diggin up her mom if her soul's in Hell?"

"It's not in Hell."

"Not in Hell? What, you're telling me her soul magically crawled itself out from _Hell_ , of all places?" Sam kept his mouth shut. "And how'd you two figure it out? What happened while I was gone?"

Sam opened his mouth, but speaking seemed like a whole other feat that he couldn't reach without the right words to say. Not even he had wrapped his head around the whole situation.

"Here," Frankie announced, gathering her brothers' attention. Sam was grateful that he didn't have to explain the entire matter just yet.

Sam and Dean walked over to stand next to Frankie. The three stared down at the grave. The headstone was clean, shiny like a brand new quarter. The epitaph wasn't yet eroded or discolored from rain and storm. The words were still legible, even in the darkened sky.

 _Sierra Love Pearce_

 _June 7_ _th_ _, 1963_

 _April 2_ _nd_ _, 2009_

 _Loving Mother and Friend_

 _Absent in body, but present in spirit. – 1 Corinthians 5:3_

Frankie couldn't even bring herself to read the epitaph. She had read it so many times before. Hell, she had to approve of the damn writing herself. Well, she said yes to it – more like nodded her head – but Alden was the one who officially approved of it, hence the scripture. And now that she thought about it, that scripture made her want to kick the goddamn slab of granite.

"Alright," Dean sighed. "Let's do this." Frankie looked over to him to see him hand Sam a shovel. "Frankie… go sit in the car."

"What?" she gasped. "No. I have to stay- to put my mom at rest."

Dean's eyes twinkled with distress in the moonlight. "We're about to dig up your mom, Frankie. And then we're gunna salt and burn her corpse. I don't want you to see that."

Frankie was still and quiet. She repeated the words in her head over and over again. They were going to salt and burn her corpse. That was how they were going to put her at rest. _Salt_ and _burn_ her corpse.

She thought about turning right then and there and head to the Impala. She wanted to curl up in the backseat and let it all loose while Dean wasn't looking. She wanted to bawl her eyes out. She wanted to scream and pray to God for forgiveness for what she did to her mom. But she stayed where she was. She had to be there, to put her mom to rest for good.

To send her to Hell.

She stifled the tears brimming her eyes and turned around, facing away from the grave, but not leaving. Sam and Dean didn't say anything, and the only indication of allowance was the scuffing of shovels into dirt. A single tear traced Frankie's cheek as speckles of dirt brushed her ankles.

They had to remove the flowers, pictures, and loving notes from the grave, and they had a lot of mildly soft dirt to shovel through, but after a little while of digging they reached the gleaming coffin six feet below. Dean was standing in the hole and his shovel hit the hard surface. He glanced up at Sam before he bent down and tugged open the fresh coffin.

He groaned and covered his nose at the unsavory scent that drifted up from the opened casket. He held back a gag as the smell of rotten cheese and mold wafted into his nostrils. He and Sam looked down into the coffin at the body of Sierra Pearce, though it resembled none of the photos. It didn't even look like her ghost. The only flesh that remained was dried skin, and the face of a skeleton stared back at them. While the corpse was only a few months old, it had tasted the severe effects of decay. They were more than glad that Frankie had her back turned.

Dean crawled out of the open gave and joined Sam at ground level. Sam revealed the tin can of salt and sprinkled it over the body in shimmying lines. When it was properly seasoned, Dean took out a lighter. He stared at it, wishing that he didn't have to do what he was about to do. He wanted a victory – to smoke a ghost – but this was far from what he wanted.

Sam's yelp tore his eyes away from the unlit lighter. He watched as his brother soared through the air to collide with headstone. Frankie finally turned around at the sound of her brother's distress, and soon wished she had gone to the car.

Sierra stood in front of Dean, glowering into her open grave. "Guess you don't wanna go to bed," Dean muttered, before she swung her arm at the man. He ducked and reached for his own tin of salt yet again. He swiped his arm in an arch over the ghost and splashed her with a stream of salt. She let out a pained screeched and flew up in smoke. Dean looked around, making sure she was gone. When he didn't find the spirit, he snapped his head over to Sam and ran over to him.

"Sam! Hey, hey! You okay?" He sat the man up. He had a nasty gash across his forehead, but he would be fine. Well, mostly fine.

"Yeah. I'm good."

"Good. C'mon. We gotta go," he hastily commanded. He hoisted Sam to his feet, but the moment he turned around to finish the job, Sierra appeared in front of him and punched both of their chests. Sam and Dean flew back and hit the ground with matching thuds.

"No!" Frankie screamed. "Mom, stop!" She ran over to the ghost and reached out an arm.

"Frankie, _no_!" Dean exclaimed.

The moment Frankie touched her shoulder Sierra spun around and faced the girl. Frankie looked into the eyes of what was once her mother. She looked into the enraged and pained face of her mom. She did that. She put her mother in pain. She ruined her soul and cursed her spirit. How could she even face her after doing something so horrible?

It turned out that she didn't have to face her mother, because the ghost had grabbed her shirt in her strong fist. "Mom?!" Frankie squeaked, hoping to maybe snap her out of it. She knew she wouldn't have, especially once she reared back her own daughter and flung her into the air in a high arch.

" _No_!" Dean yelled from somewhere lost to Frankie.

Frankie hit what she could only assume was a headstone. A big, eroded, jagged, _hard_ headstone. There was a crack in her arm and a burst of sizzling pain on her jaw. It took a few full seconds before she picked up her breathing again, and it came out in short spurts. The drips of hot liquid on her neck were either tears or blood. She didn't know.

She lay there on the grass, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Her left arm was on fire. Surely there was a scratch or a break or at the very least a wicked bruise. And the right side of her jaw was definitely bleeding. She knew that when she frowned and the skin pulled.

She was fine just lying there. Why would she want to get up? Maybe she'd just die there. Maybe the headstone punctured her stomach and she would slip away any second. Maybe she'd bleed out from her jaw. Maybe she had a severe brain injury and she was just imagining lying in the scratchy grass. That would all be fine. For what reason would she want to live after what she did? Why would she want to go on knowing that she put her mother through so much torment? Yes, dying would be ideal. She would just let death claim her.

Sam was screaming. So was Dean. They were in pain, intense pain it seemed. Where were they?

Her throat releasing shaky groans, she lifted herself up with her good arm and turned her head so that it was vertical, changing the direction of the gushing blood on her neck. She found them just across the way. Her mom was kneeling above them, her hands pressing hard into their chests. She was killing them. Her mother was killing her brothers.

Dying would have to wait. She needed to help her brothers. She needed to help them. She… she needed to… to burn her mother.

Sam was pushing, scratching, screaming against the arm pining him to the ground. She wouldn't budge, not with all the squirming and cursing in the world. Dean was in a worse boat than Sam. The ghost was apparently aware of his injured rib and used that against him. The two men were struggling, reaching for whatever would save them. Salt? No. Iron? No. Anything?! No! The pain became unbearable. Sam could practically feel his heart twisting like a stubborn pickle jar, just seconds away from popping.

Just seconds away from death, Sam and Dean narrowed their eyes on the ghost killing them, but it only took a second – one second – before the ghost stopped, let go of them, and stood up. She looked scared, in pain, before she jerked back, giving a horrid scream, as her body burst into sparking flames, burning her until she was no more.

Sam and Dean gasped, forcing their lungs to breathe, and rubbed their chests, wondering what had happened to the ghost. And as soon as they looked over to her grave, they knew. They wished they didn't know.

Frankie stood above her mom's grave, illuminated by the flames deep in the pit. The girl had taken the lighter and ignited her mother's corpse, saving them, but losing her.

Sam and Dean pushed themselves to their feet and joined her on both sides, all staring into the fire. They had to say something, anything – even simply thank you for saving their life – but they remained silent. It seemed like the right thing to do. So they stood in a moment of silence, staring into the burning flames of Frankie's mother.

Dean couldn't image what was going through his sister's head. There was her mother – her only friend as she once put it – burning in her open grave. He didn't question how Sierra was out of Hell or vengeful; he just stood by his sister, admiring her for having the guts to finally put her mom at rest… or at least send her to her final place. She was incredibly strong, but he wished she didn't have to be. No one should have to go through what she just did, especially her.

Sam spared a glance over to his sister. That day was once hell of an emotional roller coaster. She began curious with wanting to find out her machete's origins, then she finds out her mother sold her soul and had a secret friend that was a witch, and then she goes borderline insane from wanting to know why she did so. Finally, she has to end what she started. Or rather, what her mother started. If she hadn't sold her soul, none of this would have happened. But then… he wouldn't have Frankie. It seemed he had his own emotions to work through himself, but the point was that the deed was done. Sierra was at rest, and now Frankie had some heavy things to think over… and some heavy burdens to take with her for the rest of her life.

After a long while, Dean placed a comforting hand on Frankie's shoulder. "Let's go," he spoke, his voice low and final. He turned around, motioning for Sam to follow him. Sam glanced over to Frankie and said nothing, but there was nothing he could say anyway. He turned and followed Dean to the Impala.

Frankie stood at the foot of her mother's burning grave. Well… this was it. The last page of her mom's story. She was laid to rest in a pit of salt, fire, and agony, and all because Frankie just couldn't let things go. But now she could. Her mother was in Hell, and she put her there herself. She had to accept that. And it was easy, surprisingly. Maybe because she knew where her mother actually was. Sure, she was in Hell, but at least it was final.

She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the locket she found in the storage unit. She flipped it around in her fingers, brushing her thumb over the chipped paint. She curled her fingers around the metal jewelry and brought it to her lips, whispering to the locket.

"Bye, momma. I'll see you soon."

She dropped the locket into the flames, leaving the last piece of her mother behind before she joined her brother's in the car to finally go home.


	27. Chapter 26 - Secret

**A/N: More like two weeks, am I right? Nah, but really, so sorry about the wait, but I come with good news. The spring semester is over and done with so no more schoolwork for the summer! I have much more time to focus on this story before the Fall and I plan to make up for lost time. Hopefully I can keep this promise. I will try SO HARD. Thank you to those who have stuck around through my absence, and welcome to my newcomers! I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

She hadn't moved. He had been watching her since they got back, just waiting for her to do something. Anything. He waited and watched from afar, searching for the smallest sign – a warning – that displayed the residual anger and impulse that he witnessed so vividly just a few short days ago. The girl, though, simply sat, saying nothing. She sulked in reticence. Her eyes were blank, her tongue still.

Sam's fingers were tethered to a cast iron skillet drooping low into the filled sink. His right hand, holding the lathered sponge, was dripping with pearly suds and splatting onto the filthy plates and silverware. His eyes weren't focused on the collected food bits near the drain nor his morphed reflection on the silvery pots and pans. His gaze pointed through the mildly foggy window into the backyard where Frankie was sitting.

She favored a beaten up flat tire lying on its side to act as her assigned seat. Each day since the incident in Alabama she would walk outside without a word and drop herself down onto the rubber stool. She would stare into the woods for hours and would only come into the house to relieve herself. Sam didn't even know if she was eating. If she was it wasn't with them.

A sigh broke through his nostrils. Her shoulders stopped quivering after day one. After day two, she stopped holding her head in her hands. That day, she was upright, sitting absolutely still as the wind blew her hair in tranquil waves.

Sam knew this would happen. Well, the whole 'turning her mother into a vengeful spirit' was unexpected, but he knew contacting her mother would only end in tragedy. Dean should have listened to him. They should have gotten her out of the state the moment a case fell into their laps. Finding out the machete's origin be damned; it was what was best for Frankie. Besides, she would have been better off not knowing the truth, even if the truth wasn't what it was.

But they didn't get her out of Alabama. They took her to the house of a witch and that resulted in her discovering her mother's secret past. And Frankie… she reacted so unlike what Sam would've thought. He expected crying, of course. The anger he foretold. But going insane like she did – commissioning a spell, bullying a witch into bringing her mother back, slitting her wrist to draw fresh blood – that was quite a shock. She wasn't anything like what Sam saw his sister as, and he would be a liar if he said he was surprised.

He was shocked, of course he was, but surprised? How much did he actually know about Frankie? She had been in his life for a very short period and there was only so much he knew about the girl. She came out of nowhere, forced herself into their lives, and began training to become a hunter like them. At what point did they do a background check?

What if her episode was a result of some sort of mental disability? What if she was psychotic? She certainly acted like it in that moment. How would they be able to handle that on top of everything else? There was no way they could trust someone out in the field who couldn't handle emotionally taxing tasks like hunting – not to mention the whole ordeal with the apocalypse. And they couldn't just throw her out. She was too involved now. So what the hell were they going to do about it?

Familiar footsteps thudded down the stairs in the room behind him. Sam snapped out of his glum thoughts and was quick to return to dish duty. Dean's languid sigh tried to cover his pained groan as he rubbed a towel over his glistening damp hair.

"Hey. How you feeling?" Sam asked.

"Well, I got stitches in my arm, my rib is cracked, and my head feels two miles wide. I'm awesome." Dean wrapped the towel around his neck as he entered the kitchen. "Where's Frankie?"

Sam felt a small bit of disappointment that his mind went straight to Frankie instead of him, but he realized how whiney that sounded and wiped his stitched forehead with his sleeve. "Outside."

"Still?" Dean walked over to the backdoor and peered through the window. His jaw tightened as his eyes narrowed on the sorrowful girl sitting on the tire. In a practiced instant, any repentance vaguely visible on his face was replaced by an indifferent gaze. "Maybe she'll do herself a favor and finally go into the woods."

"Woods?" Sam echoed, turning his head over to his brother. "Why would she go out there?"

Dean grunted as he bent down to stick his head into the fridge. "Train. Workout. She's been out of practice too long."

Sam's brows knitted together. "Out of practice for what?"

Dean raised his head from the cool air of the fridge to lift a lone brow at Sam. "That headstone must've clocked you real good." With a pestered glare from his brother, Dean returned his gaze to the barren shelves of the refrigerator. "Whuduya think? The apocalypse. Lucifer. Saving the world. Any of this comin' back to ya?"

Sam's eyes returned to the dishes in the sink, but his hands remained still. In his opinion, Frankie had no business being anywhere near the fight until she figured herself out, or – more importantly – until _they_ figured _her_ out. Not to mention that she just went through a horrific experience that no doubt scarred her for life. Definitely not the best place to be in when face to face with the Serpent.

"Dean… don't you think it's a little too soon to be bringing her back into the fight? I mean she just lost her mom. Again."

"That was days ago, Sam."

Sam turned his entire body towards his brother. "Yeah. Days. These things don't just go away at the end of the week."

Dean stood up from his bent position, still staring down into the fridge in a futile search for lunch. "Then what do you expect her to do? Sit on the couch and watch Cosby reruns? Yeah, try telling her that." He grabbed a bottle of beer and shut the fridge door with a firm thud. He turned and padded his bare feet into the study. "Listen to her bitch and moan, begging to run right into trouble. Tell her she can't do what she wants. If you think she'll agree with you, oh boy, do I got news for you."

"Dean…," Sam leaned against the counter, folding his arms over his chest, "I don't think Frankie should fight."

"Look, Sam. I get-"

"Ever."

Dean's arm, holding the bottle just an inch from his mouth, went ridged as he processed the word. When he pivoted around, lightly swinging his head, his arm fell to his side. He hung his beer by the neck, the glass bottle swinging precariously next to his thigh.

"Ever? Care to elaborate on that?"

Sam gave a light shrug. "She's too reckless. She doesn't make good choices, Dean. Even you can agree with that. She doesn't have the patience and control for hunting."

"Well, Sam, last time I checked we don't make the best choices either." Sam clenched his jaw at the accusatory tone to Dean's words. "'Sides, that's what her training is for. To teach her to _not_ be reckless. We need to show her the right way to handle a situation."

Sam licked his lips as he held back a frustrated huff. "It's worse than just not listening to orders. It's something a little harder to discipline."

Dean was unfazed for a few seconds, but only a few. Sam knew he was screwed when Dean cocked his head and subtly rolled his shoulders, clear signs that an argument was brewing. The man lifted his bottle to his mouth and took a swig while making his way back into the kitchen.

"You seem to know something I don't. I think it's about time you tell me what happened in Alabama. You've managed to dodge the subject since we got back, but we're talking." He stopped in front of Sam and slammed his bottle onto the table with a reverberating thump. "Right now."

Sam closed his eyes and let a sigh through his nostrils. This was not going to be an easy conversation to have. Sam may not have been around lately, but he knew based on how Dean talked about Frankie that he put her on a certain pedestal that he hadn't been on in a long time. In Dean's eyes Frankie was a clean slate, a fresh canvas that he could shape into a hunter who will follow orders and have his back without worry of deception. Everything Sam wasn't. As well, they seemed to have a genuine connection, which made it even harder to tell him that his precious Frankie wasn't mentally capable of being what he wanted her to be.

"It's not something particularly easy to say."

Dean's scowl deepened. "Then it's a good thing we don't do easy."

Sam rolled his eyes while they were closed so Dean didn't freak out even more. He knew the best way to tell the truth was to rip off the bandage. Dean wasn't going to like it said in any way, shape, or form, so it was best to just be direct.

"Frankie was the one who turned her mother vengeful."

Dean's eyebrows tried to furrow more, but they were already too close together. His head jerked back in surprise at the notion. His mouth opened several times, trying to find the right response in regard to such a ludicrous sounding idea.

"What?" he finally blurted. "That's stupid. How the hell could she even do that?"

Sam nodded, ignoring his condescending tone. "She forced the witch to make a spell. One that would let her talk to her mother. She had some unfinished business with her after hearing Willadeene's story, so she bullied her into commissioning a spell to communicate to her mom in Hell. But it went… very wrong." The more Sam explained the story, Dean's haughty expression fell and his eyes darkened. "I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen. She was… Dean, she was crazy. Yelling, raving, she cut herself all for the sake of finishing the spell! They needed 'Sierra's blood'." Dean thought about the bandages around her wrist. "And when I thought I'd finally forced some sense into her she activated the spell and brought her mom back. But… it wasn't all the way her mom." Sam swallowed at the intense green eyes staring daggers into him. "You know the rest."

Dean glared down to the floor, repeating Sam's story over and over again in his head. "No, that's…," he huffed. He pressed his lips together as he mirrored Sam and crossed his arms. "She wouldn't do that. I taught-… she _knows_ better than that."

"Does she?" Sam tightened his jaw at Dean's irate glower.

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"I was there. I saw the rage in her eyes. It was like a totally different side of her took control. I'm just saying maybe you don't know her as well as you think."

Though Dean kept his scowl, his mind leveled to consider Sam's point. Dean thought he knew her pretty well. Very well, in fact. He was great at reading people, and Frankie was as easy to read as _Goodnight Moon_. It was simple. She was a single child used to unshared attention and strong singular attachment, yet she was mildly neglected due to an often absent parent. That made her stubborn, sullen, and extremely paranoid. But on the flip side, she was cheerful, eager, and full of life and excitement from her newfound purpose. There. That was all he needed to know, all he needed to work with. He didn't need to know her life story to understand what kind of person she was, so what was Sam getting at here?

But then again, a decent point was made. He offered to train a near stranger in the art of hunting. That was dangerous enough, but this was also his half-sister. She wasn't just some broad Bobby welcomed into his home. She was family and, whether he wanted to admit it or not, that was his weakness. That was both of their weaknesses. It wasn't the best thing in the world that he was developing a bond with her so soon.

It was difficult for him to make sense of it. There was just something about Frankie, a spunk, a spark. After each day of her training a little piece inside of him had brightened. Maybe it was because he was focusing on a singular goal instead of the crumbling world he stood on. Or maybe it was something deeper than that. Something more familiar and drilled into his psyche.

Maybe it was because of the way she resembled a young Sam.

He recalled the better days when he'd look after his younger brother. He remembered the movie nights in the same bland motel rooms. He remembered nights spent in Bobby's house as kids, like the night they built pillow forts and went to war using books as ammo. They got a stern talking to that night.

He remembered the nights under the stars when he'd glance over to the prepubescent Sam. He always thought to himself how he would die for his little brother, how it wasn't an act of chivalry but a fact. He thought about how he would go to the end of the world, sacrifice everything he had, just to protect Sam. It was his responsibility as the older brother, and sometimes that had scared him. What would he do if he couldn't protect his family? He didn't ask for the responsibility, but he had to carry it on his shoulders. But Little Sam would look over to him and flash his stupid lopsided grin, and then he knew it was all worth it. That was the Sam Frankie reminded him of, and he didn't want to risk losing that a second time. He'd be damned if he failed that kid again.

The man in question turned his head and let out a burdened sigh. "I could've stopped her. I just had to use the damn bathroom."

Dean snapped back to reality with a furrow to his brows. "Bathroom? When'd you do that?"

"About, eh, half an hour after you left? Maybe more. When I left Frankie was sitting in her chair, silent as ever. When I got back…" He sighed and rubbed his head. "She was standing with the witch by the shelves."

Dean fumed, mulling moment gone. His hands clenched into fists while in their crossed form over his chest. "So let me get this straight." His toughened tone caused Sam's eyes to snap back into his. "You got up to take a piss, left Frankie _alone_ with a _witch_ , and when you got back she was like a completely different person?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. More or less."

"Then I think it's pretty fuckin' obvious what happened there. That bitch Willadeene brainwashed her into making the spell. Probably couldn't do it without 'Sierra's' blood, so she possessed her to do it when you weren't around! Damnit, Sam, I told you to look after her!"

"Woah, hey, you don't know that's what happened! Maybe Frankie really did order the spell. I mean, it's not that hard to believe." Dean's eye slightly twitched. "I didn't pick up on anything different about her until she started going crazy. It felt too much like her to be faked."

Sam was caught off guard by the dark chuckle from the man across from him. "And you know that how?"

Now it was Sam's turn to display an intense glare. He furrowed his brows, awning his hazel eyes that narrowed on his petulant brother. "Don't start. Don't you bring up that crap."

"I'm just sayin'. You haven't exactly been around her long enough to know what she ' _feels like_.' While you were busy playing peek-a-boo with Miss _Bitch_ I was gettin' to know Frankie. I know what she would feel like and that ain't it."

"But you weren't there!"

"I didn't hafta be! Messing with witches? That's first grade, Sam."

"Well Frankie wasn't raised a hunter. You think she would know that? You think she would see a magical being powerful enough to make _demon-killing weapons_ as anything other than a solution to her problems? You think you've taught her _so well_ that she knows witches can be just as bad as demons? You think after all the time you've spent ' _hanging out_ ' with her, all the ' _fun times_ ' you guys have shared, that she couldn't possibly be anything other than absolutely perfect?" Dean closed his mouth with a fiery scowl.

"So sure, I haven't _trained_ her, but I know enough to pick up on when something's not right! I think you've blinded yourself with this idea of a clean slate, and now you can't see how much you're forcing onto Frankie! _Look_ what she's been through since she's gotten involved with us! She's nearly been eaten, stabbed, _killed_ by angels _and_ her dead mother, and yet you're _still_ pushing more on her?! It's no wonder she'd go crazy like she did! And I think you're choosing to ignore this! Because there's more at stake than her sanity, _right_? I think you've put such a huge expectation on some fantasy image of 'our long, lost sister turned hunter' that you're _afraid_ of being wrong about her!"

Dean snapped his head back. He cracked a humored smirk, but there was no joy in it. "That's tough talk from the guy who was ready to welcome her into the family the moment he met her!"

"This's different, Dean. And you know it." Dean scoffed to the side. "She's been in our lives forhow long? And you're so sure you know everything there is to know about Frankie Pearce. There's no way you know _everything_ about her already!" Dean shrugged off his words and grabbed his bottle from the table, taking a swig as Sam scowled at him with a sharp frown. "I think you're ignoring the fact that she's not like us. I think you're so desperate to win this war – to fix _my_ mistake – that you're willing to push her passed limits she's incapable of having!"

Dean nodded as he tossed his empty bottle in the trash. "You keep thinking that," he muttered with an indifferent gaze. As Sam processed his comment, Dean turned and walked away from his brother. He heard Sam let out a sigh to calm his nerves.

"Dean, she can't fight. Not yet. You have to trust me on this."

Dean's feet stopped. His body tensed. He stood tall and firm in the middle of the study, his body paralyzed by Sam's words. "Trust you?" he echoed, an incensed and incredulous tone to his voice. His nails dug into his palms as he slowly turned around to look Sam dead in the eye. "Okay. Say she really did make the spell. Say she did recklessly turn her mom vengeful in a fit of anger. I'd still go up against Lucifer with her having my back, no question. If my life was on the line, in her hands, I'd still trust her to do the right thing. 'Cause let me tell you this, Sam, she's been a helluva lot more trustworthy than you've been in a _long_ time!"

Sam _would_ have gasped had he air in his lungs. Sam _would_ have cursed Dean out had he the words to say. Sam _would_ have stormed out of the kitchen to blow off steam before he beat the shit out of his brother _again_. But all Sam could do was stand stiff in the kitchen, an appalled look hidden under wounded eyes.

Dean didn't give him the chance to respond further than a pained look. He stomped passed him, nearly nudging his shoulder, and headed out the back door, slamming it behind him.

Sam stood with arms crossed and eyes pointing to the floor. He felt like collapsing. The counter poking against his back and his remaining dignity were the only things keeping him upright. Whether it was a deserved remark or not, Sam felt an unjust blade of anguish slash his chest. He knew that Dean couldn't trust him, but to hear the words so bitterly barked in his face was more agonizing than any pain he had ever felt before.

Struggling to swallow passed a growing lump in his throat, Sam turned around to take his mind off of the broken trust between him and his brother. He snatched the sponge and a bowl into his constricting grip and scrubbed until the first layer of skin on his knuckles peeled away.

His vision blurred with irritating tears. Giving a quiet growl at them, he lifted his head from the sink to flush them back into their ducts. To avoid the pooling in his eyes, he focused on something outside. His mind immediately went to Frankie, the girl he for some reason was angry at, but instead landed his sights on Dean. He stood on the rotting wood planks of the back porch, arms crossed as he attempted to calm himself. Sam watched as he lifted his gaze to Frankie across the way. He tapped his fingers against his bicep in thought, supposedly thinking whether or not he should walk over there. He had hesitated, but with a final push off of the railing, his brother stepped down the stairs and began walking over grass and gravel towards the rigid girl on the tire.

A hot air of anger bubbled up in Sam's chest as he watched Dean walk towards their sister. Gritting his teeth, he forced his eyes back down into the sink, refusing to watch his brother care more about a girl he barely knew than his own brother.

* * *

She could hear him walking towards her. Her immediate instinct was to wipe the tears from her sticky, swollen cheeks, not wanting him to see her stewing in her thin skin, but her hands remained in her lap. Her red eyes still pointed into the woods. Her body didn't change its unmoved stance when Dean sat himself down on a mossy crate next to her.

For a long moment, he didn't move either. Frankie could feel a resonating fury prickling the hairs of her arm. It no doubt had something to do with the argument he just had with Sam. She could hear them really going at it. Sam seemed more upset, which wasn't a great sign, because that meant it might have had something to do with either him starting the apocalypse, or about her commissioning a spell from a witch. She hoped it was the former.

Finally, Dean let out a lengthy sigh through his nose, his nostrils giving an ever so slight whistle. "Hey," he muttered. Frankie blinked, but didn't look over to him.

"Hey."

Dean's head turned over to her. She could see his brows lift before he turned back towards the woods. "Didn't expect you to actually speak. Had a whole 'you don't hafta say anything' speech prepared." Frankie let a soft snort out of her nose. Dean's head lowered to look at his hands linked together between his knees. "How you doin', Frankie?"

"Terrible. You?"

Dean pressed his lips together as he swallowed down an irritated sigh. "Pretty terrible, too."

"Yeah, I can tell." Frankie finally inched her head over to Dean. "You and Sam seem to be having a good afternoon."

Dean clenched his jaw, regret visible on his face from her having heard their argument. "Yeah, it's awesome," he sighed while rubbing his face. "But I'm not thinking about him right now. I wanna focus on you." Frankie curtly hummed. "I can't even… _begin_ to understand what happened back in Bama." She snapped her head back in its straight position. She clenched her jaw and tightened her grip on her knees. "I'm still trying to piece things together, but I'll figure it out after a while."

' _Please don't,'_ Frankie sighed in her head.

"All I know is that I need to say something. Look, I don't know what's goin' on in your head with your mom reenacting the ending to Raiders – I mean there's not really a lot I can relate to on that – but I can understand the rest."

"Dean," Frankie sighed.

"No, let me finish." Frankie clamped her mouth with a silent sigh. "I know you don't think anyone understands what kinda crap you're stewing in, but I do know what it's like to have… y'know, a parent sell their soul for you."

It took a few seconds, but Frankie finally turned her head all the way over to Dean. She wanted to laugh at his comically messy hair, fresh out of the shower, but she had no joy inside her to even giggle. Even if she could laugh, how could she when Dean laid a bombshell of info on her. One of his parents sold their soul for him? Which one?

Dean nodded despite her lack of visible response. "We're more alike than you think, Frankie. And I know that's nothing to be proud of." His eyes fell just before his head turned away from her. His mouth parted and readied to speak, but hesitation made him its bitch. "I, uh… Dad's your dad, too, so you deserve to know." Frankie's mouth decided to part as well, yet this time in shock. He was about to tell her something about John. Finally, after twenty plus years she would know something _true_ about John Winchester! Her eyes widened as she leaned a little closer to listen intently. She watched as Dean's lips twitched in hesitation. Then he closed his eyes with a sigh. "Y'know, forget it." Frankie felt like she was punched in the throat. "You're goin' through too much already. You don't need this, too."

"Dean." Frankie's voice was hard, nearly a grunt, which wasn't the tone she was going for, but it gathered her brother's attention to her seriousness. "Don't get me wrong, I'm… real messed up in here. Like, _bad_. But the worst of it isn't knowing that my mom sold her soul or killed herself or befriended a goddamn _witch_." She leaned away from Dean, maintaining eye contact as she drew in a cleansing breath. "It's that she lied to me. She kept secrets. I hate secrets. And I know that's _really_ hypocritical to say, but… I mean… I can't take any more secrets. I'm so tired of all the secrets. I need to know some sort of truth." With a small furrow of her brows, Frankie's pleading gaze turned into a demanding glare. "And I mean now."

Dean's eyes searched around her face, taking in every inch of her puffy expression. The past three days she spent outside and the lack of showers in those days had dirtied her face. It had made it easy for her tears to make prominent streaks between her freckles. Her eyes had shrunk from her lids swelling, and the whites of those eyes were pink from stress. Her nose involuntarily flared, a lingering symptom from trying to fit the most breath into her lungs as she wept. She had a rough three days, he could tell. He didn't need to see her burdened face to figure that out. But blocking that sorrowful face was a determined gaze, one that strived for anything to take her mind off of her problems.

Dean let out a humorless snort as he turned away. "Okay. I'll tell you. I'm not happy about it, but you've got my hands tied." Frankie relaxed her hard stare. "Me, Dad, and Sam were in an accident two years ago. It hit us hard. It hit me the hardest. I, uh… I went into a coma. Almost died. Hell, I _did_ die for a few minutes." He scratched at his stubble as he cleared his throat from the rough memory. "Dad had been hunting this demon for some time. Heh, for years. Decades. We were close to catchin' 'im when we got hit. And Dad, he… there was so much at stake and he trusted us to finish his job. So…" Dean cleared his throat once more as he sat up straight on the crate. "He sold his soul to the demon. For my life. So I could live."

Frankie couldn't even swallow. She was shocked by what Dean was telling her. This was the truth? John didn't die from a car falling on him. He sold his soul to a demon. Just like her mother. Just like her. Was it a family trait to sell souls or something?

So that meant both of her parents sold their souls so that their kids could live. And then Frankie sold her soul to save herself. She thought her mother was selfish, but then what did that make her?

"We ganked the bastard, I'll tell you that." Frankie looked back over to Dean as he continued, bitterness beginning to line his voice. "But Dad… what he did was _not_ brave. Between who should live, me or him, it shoulda been him. He deserved to be the one to kill that dick. It was his fight, _not mine_." Frankie swallowed this time. She wanted to tell him that she felt the same about her mom, how she hated that she would throw away her life with friends and a purpose for her who, at the time, had no friends and no purpose, but she kept her mouth shut. It was not her place. "No one should ever hafta sell their soul for someone else, especially a parent for their kid. What kinda message does that send to them?"

"It tells 'em they better do something with their 'gift of life' so that their 'sacrifice' means something," Frankie spat.

Dean nodded his head with a huff. "Exactly. A stupid thing to sell your soul for. Someone else." Frankie looked over to Dean and saw how he dipped his head, a guilty gaze just barely passing by his eyes. She furrowed her brows. "Still," he blurted, wiping the look from his face. Frankie sat up and turned her head away, making it so that she hadn't noticed. "It's better than bartering it away for yourself." And then it was Frankie's turn to wear a guilty expression. Her breath caught in her throat, her body going stiff.

"I swear, half of the demon problems would just go away if people would stop bein' so goddamn selfish with their souls. And what do they sell 'em for? Money. Fame. Love. _Themselves_." Frankie's teeth gritted together as her palms grew sweaty against her jeans. "They're selfish, desperate jerks that'll give away their ticket to a decent afterlife to a damn demon." A chill went up her spine when Dean turned over to her, a serious look in his eyes. "Promise me something, Frankie." It took all of her inner strength to flick her eyes over to her brother. "Don't ever sell your soul. For anything. For me, or Sam, Bobby, someone else, for a cause or info, for _anything_. Promise me that."

It was at this moment Frankie knew she fucked up. Big time.

Her face had paled long before he said that final plea. Her throat was dry, raw from sobbing and scratchy from the promise Dean was asking for. Frankie felt her heart beat and beat and beat in a rhythm too high for comfort the longer she stared into his laden eyes.

How do you tell someone, 'I can't promise that I won't sell my soul because I already went and did it'? This was the moment Frankie had been dreading: the moment Dean found out about her biggest mistake. She should have just died on that hospital bed instead of taking the most desperate of options. Then she wouldn't be in that situation, having to decide quickly what to tell him.

Well she had to tell him the truth! She had just said how tired she was of the secrets. But how would he react to the news? Would it crush him? Anger him? Would he stop training her? Would he kick her out? Oh god, _would he kick her out_?!

Her heart couldn't take it. After everything she had been through with her family, Adam and Kate, her house, her mom, that would tip the barrel. Bobby's house was the first place that felt like home in a long time, even more so than her own damn house. Dean ordering her to leave would break her fragile heart, because, after all, she always listened to Dean.

Dean's eyebrows furrowed. Curiosity over her hesitation was clear on his face. Frankie panicked. She didn't need him speculating anything, but what was she going to say? Her mind scrambled in a freaked flurry, making it harder to decide. Should she tell the truth or lie? Tell the truth or lie? Truth or lie?!

He opened his mouth, and Frankie quickly filled her lungs with air to speak before he did. But she still didn't know her answer. Her brain was just as curious and Dean as to what her mouth would say.

"Uh, yes!"

Dean blinked in confusion. Frankie cringed in regret.

Damnit. Damnit, damnit, damnit. Another goddamn lie under her belt. She had to stop that shit. Should she take it back?

"Um… yes as in…?" he questioned.

"I-I promise."

' _Fuckin' shut up!'_ she screamed in her head.

A sick feeling spread in her stomach as he nodded his head with a satisfied smile. "Okay. Good." Frankie swallowed, lest her nausea get the best of her. "So look, uh," he continued, raising a thumb to scratch under his eyelid, "I know you're still recovering and all, but… I mean we're in a war here, and as your mentor I gotta make sure you're ready." Frankie was only half-listening to him, still reprimanding herself for lying to him again. "Now I get it. In this life, there's gunna be shit to swim through. I get it. But we're facing bigger bosses than we ever had and we need all hands on deck. There'll be plenty of time to sulk and cry when we win. For now I really need my student be my student, you feel me?"

Frankie didn't speak. Her mind was a blur, her heart sunken.

Dean narrowed his brows as he took in her absent expression. "Frankie."

The girl snapped out of her trance and darted her head over to the gruff voice. "Yeah?"

"Did you hear a word I just said?"

Frankie gulped and nodded. Another lie.

"Okay." Dean grunted as he stood up from the crate. "I'm gunna go and see if Bobby's found anything. Why don't you go out into the woods and practice. No lessons today."

Frankie realized that he must have given her the talk. The one where she should rejoin the fight, not the one about mommy's and daddy's and shit. She lifted her head and nodded at the man, but he wasn't satisfied. Whether that was because of her lack of verbal response or her inattentive aura, he turned his entire body to face her and put on a reasoning gaze. It intensified the sick feeling in her gut.

"I know it seems like I don't care about what you're going through. I do, Frankie. You're just entering this world. You're raw. There's a lot more crap you hafta go through before this stuff can be shrugged off. I know you might feel like fighting Lucifer is the last thing you wanna do. It's the last thing _I_ wanna do. But I see a lot of potential in you, Franks. I do. In this line of work, you can't save everyone. That's why we don't get too close to people. But you just work passed this emotional stuff and focus on your training, hell, you can save the world. I need you. We all do. Right now I need everybody to do their part. You do yours, there's nothing we can't do. I believe that, Franks. You should, too."

Frankie wished she could smile.

"I know I'm askin' a lot of you, but I need you to get back into the fight. Remember what I told you at the hospital? Well now it's time to get in the right mindset and do some serious work. You can do that for me, right?"

Frankie's throat was tight. Any word that went through it would be squeaky and short-lived. She was touched by Dean's words. He believed in her. He really did. He shouldn't. Not after everything she did with the witch and all the lies she sputtered. She knew someday very soon that all of that would come back and bite her in the ass. Both cheeks. But there was no possible way she could tell him after his kind and motivational words. All she could do was nod with a sorry excuse for a smile. He bought it, and he walked off with a nod of his own.

When she heard the back door shut, Frankie felt her stomach heave. She launched off of the tire and covered her mouth with her hand, begging her stomach to hold it just a few more feet. She smacked a hand on a tree just inside the woods and let it all go. Her stomach quivered and hurled, tossing what little bits of food she had consumed in the past three days into the unfortunate ivy plants below. Her eyes trickled with tears, mixing with the small streams of snot that ran out of her nose. When the leftover dry heaves finally passed, a sob shook her shoulders and burned her throat.

She couldn't take any more pressure. The load given to her from Dean was far too much to hold. How was she expected to move on from that? She lied to him about her soul, promised him that she'd take up training again, and told him that she would rejoin the fight even though she was far too incapable of doing so. Dean believing in her was the icing on top of the insecurity cake. If he knew all of her secrets he wouldn't trust her for a second.

Her secrets came to mind. _All_ of her secrets. And from those thoughts a certain angel came to mind. Her body was filled to the brim with despair and was one more blow away from collapsing in on herself. If there was one thing, just one thing, that could alleviate some of her pain and guilt she would make it through the apocalypse. Maybe. She had to tell someone, someone she could trust enough to keep her secrets secret and not run out on her because they promised her they wouldn't.

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and stumbled onto the woodland path, heading for her training grounds.

* * *

She looked around at the familiar atmosphere. It nearly brought a smile to her face. Nearly. Looking around at the small boulders, the long tree limb, the branch – yes, _that_ branch – lying dormant on the forest floor really put in perspective how long she'd been away from her special woodland spot. With trying to find Dean, hiding in the panic room, going to John's storage unit, her time in the hospital, and of course their Alabamian excursion, Frankie had been away for far too long.

She walked over to her moss covered rock and brushed away the stray acorn bits from idle squirrels that had used her seat. She lifted herself up on the rock with a huff and sat there. She just sat there, listening to the bubbling creek behind her, inhaling the earthy green scent of the forest in summer, and scratching at the fraying moss under her fingers. She picked at the tufts of green as her nerves boiled in her stomach like a stew.

She was going to call on Castiel, and she was going to tell him the truth. She had to; she didn't have a choice. It was a miracle that she was still standing after everything she had been through (if she was anyone else she would probably be in Kate's situation at that moment) but she was still kicking, but only barely. She feared that if she didn't vent her frustrations to someone soon she would have an aneurism, and Castiel was the only being who came to mind.

Sure, she didn't know Castiel very well – as a matter of fact, she barely knew him at all – but she wanted to believe that he wouldn't run out on her after admitting her mistake, and unfortunately a weak hope was all she could function on.

She sucked in a shaky breath and exhaled an even shakier huff. It did little to calm her nerves, but she pressed on nonetheless.

"So, um… Castiel? Are you busy? 'Cause, uh… I need your help. So if you have a moment, I would really like to-"

"Hello, Francine."

She was caught off guard by the swiftness of the angel's presence. The last time she prayed he took his sweet time. She sighed and closed her eyes. "Y'know, Francine was my grandma's name. You can just call me Frankie."

"What happened?"

Frankie looked up to finally lay her eyes on the angel in the middle of the clearing. He looked exactly like the last time she saw him, which was, oddly enough, in her dream, but this time his eyes bore a look of urgency. Frankie narrowed her brows and shook her head. "What?"

He took the few steps forward to stop in front of her. His intense gaze was more unnerving in motion. "What hurt you?" he grunted as he reached for her wrist.

She sighed as she sat back on her rock, gently yet hastily withdrawing her arm into her hand. "More like a 'who', really. My mother. She was a ghost, and… she attacked me, Sam, and Dean." She cleared her throat of the lump threatening to catch in it. She buried her true emotions under a fake indifferent mindset. "Real dramatic. You shoulda been there."

"Yes. I _should_ have." Frankie flicked her eyes back up to Castiel, her brows furrowing in confusion over the cross sound of his voice. "I told you to contact me whenever you're in danger."

Frankie forced a scoff at the pressing angel. "Well, I'm sorry, but in the heat of the moment I don't exactly think about an angel in a trench coat." The small amount of coolness she felt over her snarky remark was snuffed by the glare of Castiel above her.

"This isn't a game, Francine." The girl gave a slight quirk of her brow, and that was enough for the angel to lightly sigh and ease back on his irritation. "Frankie. Your soul is tethered to Heaven. If I don't save you from death another angel will, and I can guarantee that they won't be as considerate." Castiel pressed his lips together and assessed the girl sitting on the rock. He averted his eyes before turning to walk away. "Not to mention their eagerness to locate Dean and myself."

In the true Winchester fashion, she forced apathy that she didn't possess into her voice. She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes following the angel. "Okay then, the next time I battle my mother's ghost I'll give you a call."

Castiel stopped his gentle pace. He slowly turned his head towards the smart-mouth girl and scowled. Frankie tried to mask her anxious swallow. "I don't appreciate your attitude. I _am_ placing important matters aside to cater to your wellbeing."

Frankie felt a blanket of guilt slug onto her shoulders. Her glare dissolved into a timid frown, her crossed arms relaxing and hanging loosely over her chest. "I know," she forced out. With a sigh and small clear of her throat, Frankie's voice filled with more sympathy. "I know. I'm sorry. I really appreciate your help. I need all the help I can get."

Castiel narrowed his eyebrows at her odd and vague comment. "Why did you pray for me?" he asked in a softer voice.

Now was the moment, the moment to tell him the truth. Frankie sucked in a breath to calm her remaining nerves and ready her speech. He was surely going to ask a bunch of questions, such as 'Why?' and 'How' and 'What kind of stupid bitch are you?' She mentally prepared the answers for each of them, but no matter how many times she opened her mouth, no matter how confused Castiel looked as he watched her lips move silently, she couldn't bring herself to speak. She was terrified. This was an angel for Christ's sake. Who's to say he wouldn't smite her or something?

When he cocked his head to the side and gave that squinting gaze, Frankie knew she had to speak up. That was the look he gave her before reading her mind both times before. She knew if he found out the truth through mind reading he would react far worse than by mouth.

"U-Um…," she forced out, but she just couldn't bring herself to say it. She squeezed her eyes shut as a sigh escaped her. "Have you- have you found out anything yet? About why Heaven needs me?" It wasn't what she wanted to say, but she at least asked an important question. It would alleviate some of the stress to know if he had made any progress. She opened her eyes to look at the angel, but the disappointed look in his eyes was less than assuring.

"I'm sorry," he grunted," I haven't." Frankie felt a squeeze of disappointment in her heart. She looked down at her hands, slightly green at the fingertips from fresh picked moss, as Castiel picked up his slow pace again. "It's difficult to communicate with an angel that knows of your existence, let alone your purpose. Michael is waiting impatiently in Heaven for Dean to give his permission, Raphael is already on a hunt for your brother and I, Lucifer is, of course, out of the question, and Gabriel… well if he hasn't come back now I doubt he ever will. Aside from the archangels, there would only be a very small select few high ranking angels who know of your role in Heaven, but as you can imagine they all have orders to kill me on sight."

Frankie humorlessly snorted. "So what you're saying is that the only way to figure this out is if an archangel – or other celestial bigwig – tells me personally? Yeah, that's… that's _great_."

"We just need to be patient," Castiel sighed, turning to face the troubled girl. "As long as Michael and Lucifer don't take their true vessels we have time. I will find the answer. I promise."

Frankie softly shook her head. "Don't promise."

Castiel's head cocked to the side, his brows narrowing. "Why?"

"Because it'll be more disappointing if you can't. Just… say you'll try."

The angel analyzed the girl for a small while. His eyes focused intently on her, yet she felt no rifting connection in her skull. He didn't seem to be reading her mind, but instead examining her frustration and hopelessness. He then righted his head and stood tall and rigid as usual.

"Then I will try. I can promise you that."

Frankie cracked a smile, a genuine one. It was the first genuine one in three days. Castiel, despite knowing so little about her, put so much aside to make sure her questions were answered. Maybe it was just because of the small debt he owed or the fact that her purpose might possibly open a door to stopping the apocalypse, but she felt deeply touched that he would risk his life for her.

' _He shouldn't.'_

Her face dipped into a frown at the thought that passed in her mind. The thought was right. He shouldn't risk his life for her, because she was unworthy of his help. She had done so many things in the past few weeks that were way against Heaven's codes of conduct. She sold her soul, consorted with a witch, damned her mothers' soul to Hell… well that was only half her fault. Nevertheless, Castiel was working his ass off to help her and she was making mistakes left and right. She was a horrible person. And even now she couldn't bring herself to admit her mistake to him. It was probably for the best. He might leave if she did. She couldn't bear it if she ran anyone off, especially an _angel_.

"You're upset." She snapped her head up to see the curious gaze of Castiel. She internally cursed herself for letting him take notice of her inner struggles. There was no going back. He seemed like the sort to pick up on when someone was lying.

"Uh, yeah. I guess I am," she breathed out in a long sigh.

"Why?"

Frankie bit the inside of her cheek and lightly shook her head. She had to do it. She couldn't hold it in anymore. "Well, I… I didn't just call you to ask about Heaven. I, uh… I have to come clean. If I can't I'll explode, I really will. Maybe not in a ball of fire, but, like, probably from internal bleeding or… like a hernia."

"I… don't follow."

"The thing is… I have to tell someone. Anyone. The longer I keep it bottled up the friendlier Bobby's revolver looks." Frankie's throat shrank and constricted with every word she spoke. She could feel her emotions beginning to get the best of her, and breathed out to cleanse some of her stress.

She felt it again. She felt the connection form. Castiel was trying to read her mind to find out what was troubling her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to fight against the probing phantom fingers. "Don't. Please. I wanna tell you myself." There was a moment of pause before the feeling fluttered away like the birds in a nearby oak tree. "I fucked up, Castiel. Real bad."

The angel didn't immediately respond, causing Frankie to peak open her eyes. His face shifted quickly from lenient to accusatory. His blue eyes fogged over with a hostile glare that struck a twinge of fear into her. "What did you do?" he questioned, his voice so deep that it rumbled in her chest. It was the final push that sent her over the edge of emotionally overwhelmed. Frankie was too late to catch the tears that ransacked her ducts, and was far too late in calming the quake in her breath. It only took one squint of his eyes to shove her into a panicked sob.

Castiel stood in front of Frankie as she delved into a crying fit. His glare was long gone, and in place of it was an uncomfortable gawk. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he searched for something to say. "I'm, um… sure it's not that bad. Um…" The girl kept crying. Castiel looked to the ground, but then recalled something he saw on a passing television. He took the few small steps towards Frankie and lifted a hand to her trembling shoulder. "There, there. It's going to be alright." It seemed at first that it didn't work, but she gave two last quivering breathes before her sob had calmed. Now that she was stable, Castiel tried again in a much softer voice. "What did you do?"

Frankie was vulnerable. She was _passed_ vulnerable, actually, but Castiel's attempt at calming her as well as his comforting hand on her shoulder gave her the small strength she needed in admitting the mistake that had been haunting her since she made it. With a readying breath and a wipe of her eyes, she spoke in the strongest voice she could muster.

"I sold my soul."

The first few silent seconds after she spoke felt like a rift from reality that was only broken when Castiel removed his hand from her shoulder. She clenched her jaw as she watched him from her peripheral vision.

"You what?" he slowly rumbled.

"It was before you told me about my soul! I didn't think I had a choice!" Frankie quickly justified. "I was dying, you couldn't heal me, there were no donors, I thought it was the only way!" She finally snapped her eyes into his, not loving the penetrating glower she found in them. "But then you told me Heaven needed me… and I've felt… _horrible_ ever since. I thought about reversing it. I thought about trying to find a way to break the contract, but seeing how well that went for my mom…"

"No," Castiel finally spoke, voice surprisingly not brash and affronted. "Reversing it is impossible if one is not the owner of the soul. Once a soul is sold, that owner's name is etched onto it."

Frankie's head jerked back in surprise at the information. "Like Heaven's brand?"

"Yes. As long as the symbol is on the soul it is irreversible to anyone that does not lay claim to it." Frankie could feel a spike of disappointment deep into the very soul that belonged to that damn crossroads demon. She felt ill and angry at the fact that the pompous turd's name was permanently written inside her. "But I might be able to scratch it off."

Frankie's head snapped up so fast that it popped a crick in her neck. "What? Really? How could you do that?"

"I would need to access the mark." The girl furrowed her eyebrows at the angel. Castiel pressed his lips together as he stared knowingly down at her. "I need you to let me touch it."

Frankie lifted a brow up at him. "M-My soul?"

"Yes."

"Is that possible?"

"It is, but…," Castiel lifted his head so that he wasn't looking Frankie in the eye, "it is a very painful procedure. It would be excruciating to simply touch your soul. Burning off the name would be no doubt agonizing."

Frankie thought over the offer. She had been through enough pain already. What was one more blow? "If you think you can get me out of my deal then go for it. I don't care about the pain."

Castiel's eyes met Frankie's again, this time harboring an almost sympathetic glint in them. "You must understand that this is all theoretical. There's no guarantee that this attempt will be successful."

Frankie licked her lips as she thought over his point. "But there's a chance?"

Castiel's face hardened once more, which made him appear more like his mechanical, angel self. "Yes."

Frankie thought about the crazy idea they were plotting and decided to take it further. "Do you think you could also remove heaven's mark?"

"I wish I could, but that is impossible." Frankie felt less disappointment at this as she didn't have much hope for it in the first place. "If the theory is correct, only God or an archangel can remove it, but I cannot. But…," Frankie's brows narrowed at the thoughtful tone to the angel's voice, "perhaps I can find out more about your purpose through it. I may be able to identify some information if I touch the mark."

Frankie lightly shook her head with hampered eyes. "Then… touch away I guess." Castiel's eyebrows slightly twitched together before he nodded down at the girl. "So, how's this work? You crawl inside me through my mouth or… maybe link minds or something?" Castiel didn't answer. Frankie raised her head to find him wearing a troubled expression. It was strange to see the angel wear such a vulnerable face. "What is it?"

She saw that he tried to cover it up, but the expression remained. He flicked his eyes into her own. "I promised to protect you from harm. Now that is exactly what I'm doing."

Frankie felt that touched feeling within her once more. Her face grew an assuring smile. "You're not harming me, Castiel. You're helping me. I promise." The angel's eyes remained hesitant, but his brows relaxed. "Now… get this done before I change my mind." Covering up his vulnerable features, he put on his serious face as his hands reached down to his waist and unbuckled his belt. Frankie's eyes snapped down to his hands. She frowned as he pulled it out of its sockets. "Uh… I know that was a touching moment, but at least buy me a drink first." Castiel narrowed his eyebrows down at the girl, confusion written across his face. "It was a… never mind."

"Lay down." Frankie followed his outstretched hand to the forest floor. She hesitated, but abided and lay flat on her back on top of sticks and grass. "Bite this," he ordered while kneeling and presenting his folded belt to her. She complied with his command and opened her mouth, taking the band into her teeth. The moment she tasted the leather of the belt, the reality of the situation dawned on her. That change of mind she mentioned was beginning to flood her thoughts, but before she could act on the matter, Castiel had rolled up his sleeve. Panic flared once her eyes landed on his pale forearm. "I'm sorry." His face surely showed that he did.

Her throat gave a slight squeak before he had even done anything, but the moment he pressed his hand into her abdomen and pushed into her with a beam of white light, all Hell broke loose in her mind.

Pain unlike any that she had felt before impaled every nerve in her body. She thought Zachariah cyst-ing up her kidneys was bad, but this was fucking unbearable. She felt Castiel's hand twist and rummage into her soul, each of his fingers a fiery blade that stabbed and screwed into her organs all at once. And she felt it. She felt him burning that demon Crowley's name with the heat of one million suns. Her brain popped and bubbled with pain, pain, pain: the only thought she could muster. Her throat ripped long, hoarse screams up into the treetops. Had her eyes been focusing above her, she would have seen dozens of birds fleeing from her distressed cries. She couldn't see at all. She wasn't sure whether her eyes were closed or if she was blind from the sheer agony. If she had wanted to open her eyes, she couldn't have. Her body seized up, her teeth biting harder and harder and harder into the leather of his belt until she was sure she would snap through it.

It felt like hours of unimaginable torment, but Castiel's hand finally slithered out of her soul. Her throat was raw and scratchy. The relieved gasps that emptied out of her lungs were nearly silent. And she couldn't see. Why couldn't she see? She was blind. Oh god, she was fucking blind! She couldn't fucking see!

"Are you awake?" came the gravelly voice from above her.

"I-I-I can't see," she rasped. "I-I'm blind."

"That happens sometimes. Keep blinking. Your sight will return."

She blinked repeatedly, but was met with the same blackness. After nine or so squeezes, though, light and color began to return to her eyes. She sighed out in relief as her sight was slowly restored, though it was blurry as it tried to focus on the angel that kneeled over her.

The pain was gone, but her insides felt all mushed up and in the wrong place. She didn't think she could walk it off, but she would just have to suck it up. Her mind ran to the reason for her suffering. "Did you do it? Is my soul free?" She couldn't tell if the look on Castiel's face was negative or positive, it was all blurry to her.

"No. I'm sorry." Apparently it was negative. Fuck. "But I did find something."

Frankie's throat squeezed out a small gasp, and she propped herself up on her elbows. She ignored the slight pain of the rocks digging into her skin. "What?! What did you find?!"

"A name. I know the archangel tethered to your soul."

The girl rolled her eyes up and shut her eyes with a reliving sigh. "Thank God. Who is it? I need to have a strong word with that feathered fucker." Realizing who she was talking to, she opened her eyes to give Castiel an apologetic glance. "No offense. Who is it?"

She may have been slightly blinded by the procedure, but she wasn't blind to the riled glint in the angel's eyes. "Gabriel. That would explain the lack of help when you were near death."

Gabriel. Castiel had dropped that name not too long ago, and he had said that the archangel had been missing for some time. He also said it was unlikely that he would be coming back. Her luck just kept getting better and better.

"So… the reason my life sucks so hard right now is because my assigned angel is a runaway?" Clenching her teeth in both pain and anger, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. "What the hell, man?!" she screamed to the clouds. "So now what? I'm just supposed to try and not die? That's gunna be pretty damn hard in ten years!" Deflating with a laden sigh, Frankie glanced back at the spectating angel at her side. "Is there any other way to get me out of my deal?" she hopefully asked.

"As far as my limited power goes, no. Only the demon who owns your soul can free you."

"Well he won't do it! He was way too eager to claim it!" Frankie's hands smacked onto her knees and clutched them tight. "So I'm fucked."

"Not necessarily. I know someone who might be able to help."

Frankie blinked over to Castiel, her voice possessing an overtone of hope with an undertone of skepticism. "Who?"

"God."

Frankie stilled. "Uh… God? God as in the all-powerful, Ten Commandments, sacrifice your son to me but not really God?"

"Yes. You recall me mentioning my current mission in our previous conversation?"

"Yeah."

"He is my current mission. I'm trying to find God. If I can, we can stop the apocalypse. Only He can reach Michael and Lucifer to a degree we are incapable of. If we can convince God to stop Michael and Lucifer, then we can end this one and for all. Perhaps He will help you as well." Castiel's lips pressed into a firm line, his eyes filled with uncertainty. It was clear that he wasn't all the way sure God would give her the time of day. "It is worth a try."

Frankie wanted to believe that this was all possible, that God could stand up to his sons, pull down their trousers, and beat the ever loving shit out of their tender, feathery asses and then clear her of her sins all in one, but it seemed like reaching for a solution that simply wasn't there. She sold her _soul_ to a _demon_. Why the hell would God fix that mistake? But she had to face the facts. This was her one last shot. Unless Gabriel somehow showed up at their doorstep to send her on her anointed quest, she would have to stick with God helping out little ol' sinful her.

She scrunched her shoulders up with a hopeless sigh. "Here's to hoping. Guess I'll be seeing you soon then."

Castiel stood up from his kneeled position and held out a hand that Frankie promptly took. "Hopefully so," he muttered as he raised her from the ground. "In my absence, remember that you must stray away from any and all danger. We don't want other angels to become involved, and we especially don't want demons to learn of this secret."

"Yeah, um… about that…," Frankie didn't want to mention it, but she didn't feel up to adding to her lies and secrets list. "You see… Dean is kinda dead set on me rejoining the fight. Like, really dead set. He gave a whole speech and everything. I don't think I can exactly tell him no."

"What fight?"

"Y'know, the big fight. The apocalypse, Lucifer, the whole shebang."

"No," Castiel firmly grunted. "That is completely out of the question. You would be placing yourself right where angels and demons could reach you. Even if other angels aren't aware of your purpose, they can still see the mark on your soul as I did. They could more than easily grab you and present you to Michael or Raphael. And the demons are quickly become more and more aware of your position in this war. If they find out even the slightest information of what has been discussed here they will take you and bury you far from my grasp. I can only protect you if I can reach you. You _must_ understand this."

Frankie nodded as she recognized the direness of the circumstance. "I understand."

"It's best to stay away from any and all danger. I can understand if you want to help, but you can't help us if you are a hostage. Do you understand?"

"Yes," the girl sighed. "I understand. But Dean ain't gunna take it easy. What's he gunna think when I say I don't wanna get back out there? He's gunna think something's going on right away."

"You said you recently quarreled with your mother's ghost?"

Frankie blinked at the odd question and bristled at the subject. "Yeah. What of it?"

"That was no doubt a traumatizing experience. Use it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I know Dean, and I know that he chooses to disregard personal and emotional concerns in favor of work and arrogance. But there is one thing that he cannot disregard, and that is placing a close one at risk. If he is to believe that you can't handle your own after a distressing confrontation with your deceased mother, then he won't risk it. Convince him that you're not reliable in a battle situation."

"Well I don't wanna do that. I promised him that I would be the best student I can be. That's hardly teacher's pet material."

"Well, I'm afraid you can either convince him of your incompetence or enrage him enough to have him place you under house arrest. Use whichever motive you see fit."

Frankie glanced to the forest floor, knowing far too well that this was a terrible plan. "Okay."

Castiel lingered a glance on the pessimistic Frankie. If there was more he wished to say, he kept it within him. "I will contact you soon. Please try and stay out of danger."

"I will." It wasn't a lie, so why did it feel like one? Frankie lifted her head as the angel stepped away, readying to take flight. "A-And Castiel?" He paused and glanced at the girl. She tried for a smile. It failed. "Thank you. So much. I really appreciate your help."

The angel nodded once. "You're welcome, Frankie." And just as he appeared, he vanished into the air.

Now alone, Frankie relayed her entire confrontation with Castiel in her head. She shook her head, and then she looked up to the sky. "God… please just-…" She stopped her prayer to huff. Praying would do her about as good as waiting for him on the porch. She lowered her head with a burdened sigh. "Help me."


	28. Chapter 27 - Poison

**A/N: Sorry about the wait, folks. I'm still getting back on my routine. Anyways, here's a chapter. It is a bit slower in pace, but the next few get pretty cray-cray, naw meen? Anyway, THANK Y'ALL for the follows, favorites, reviews, all of it. It keeps me truckin', it really does. Also, I don't wanna be one of those people that begs for comments, but if you guys have any suggestions at all to make the story better, if you really like something or really hate it, think something's totally amazing or complete shit, hit me up. Let me know. I take all forms of criticism. Use the PMs if you wish. Or if you just wanna chat it up, discuss the economy, global warming, whatever Trump's up to these days, or just need an ear to talk to, I'm here. I got you, bruh. Okay, Ima stop typing and post this damn chapter. Stay beautiful.**

* * *

Her throat burned hot, sharp screams slicing at the raw walls of her gullet. Her left arm sizzled like a hot plate of fajitas fresh out of a Mexican kitchen as fiery fists clawed at her forearm. Her skin bubbled and melted under their demonic fingers until they only grasped at bone.

Her right arm spilled blood in streams as finger after finger was ripped from her sockets. Their nails didn't dare sink into her skin – she was to be protected – but their ironclad grasps tugged at the skin of her arm and tore it apart.

They heaved and jerked, gripped and squeezed, pulling her like a fraying tug-of-war rope on a kindergarten field day. Angels on one side (pulling her to safety – a term used loosely, unlike their grip) and demons on the other (trying their damnedest to damn her soul). On one side she was burning alive, on the other she was coming apart at the seams. Her body couldn't take it. She couldn't take it.

No more.

No _more_.

 _No_. _More_.

Her organs shifted, picking a side to linger on. Her belly extended, the skin of her navel stretching beyond limitation. They were ripping her apart. She screamed for them to stop. They pulled harder. They both wanted her so badly that they didn't care if she was split in twain as long as they got a piece. And so they pulled harder.

And harder.

And harder, until they heaved all at once in one last tug.

There was a squish.

And then there was a knock.

* * *

Her lungs puffed out a weak squeal. The ceiling of her room greeted her. Her hands dove for her stomach. It was in one piece.

Frankie sighed against the memory of her nightmare. Her hands left her stomach and found her forehead, shoving back her bangs and resting on the already pounding headache underneath.

"Hey, Franks!" Dean's muffled voice sounded followed by another series of knocks. "Sun's up. Whuduya doin' in bed?"

She feared her voice wouldn't be audible what with all that screaming, but this wasn't her nightmare, though it was damn close. "Sleeping," she announced to the man beyond the door. "Least I was…," she whispered to herself.

"Well, _stop_ sleepin' and get to work. You're back on a routine, remember?"

Frankie squeezed her eyes shut and squeaked out a series of tired whines. "Yeah," she answered once she was done moaning. "I'll be out in a minute."

She waited to hear Dean's footsteps disappear from behind the door before slapping her hands down beside her legs. Her eyes burned into the ceiling as she relayed the nightmare in her head. "Why'd-," she huffed out before she knew better. Her lips pressed tightly into a firm line as she sank as much as she could into her pillow. "Stupid… fucking kidneys. Stupid fucking angels."

Frankie hauled herself out of bed and over to her drawer. "Stupid fucking demon. Stupid fucking deal," she muttered while pulling out a tank top and shorts. Once dressed, she borderline stomped into the bathroom, yanking her hair into the tightest ponytail she could. "Stupid fucking soul."

Frankie's eyes drifted up from the running water in the sink to meet her own gaze in the mirror. Her jaw clenched, and a sigh escaped her nostrils as her hands clutched the sides of the porcelain sink. The brewing anger on her face melted into a tired, regretful stare. "Stupid… fucking… Frankie." She shook her head and lowered it with closed eyes. "You idiot."

She stopped at the top of the stairs. Her face was stone, hard and cold. She had to wipe away the look if she didn't want Sam, Dean, or Bobby questioning her about it, but _damn_ was it hard. She mustered the fakest smile in the world before trotting down the stairs, forcing a joyful hop into each step.

The air downstairs was incredibly tense. Sam and Dean were apparently still upset with each other. They weren't even in the same room together. Sam sat on the couch in the study with his nose in a book, no doubt researching about the apocalypse. Dean was standing in the kitchen chewing on a Pop Tart and lightly chatting with Bobby about something not incredibly important.

Sam raised his head from his book once he noticed Frankie entering the study. "Morning," he muttered, and then he went back to his book. He was apparently not very chatty that morning. It made enough sense. He was already in a strained place with Dean and now she entered the picture. Things were tense between them, too, after that whole Alabama thing. They still had yet to talk about that, and it didn't look like that would change anytime soon.

Frankie walked into the kitchen with a tight smile. "Hey, kid," Bobby greeted.

"Hey, Bobby," Frankie answered with a light pat on the shoulder. The small gesture was all it took for the older man to narrow his brows and frown up at her.

"You feelin' alright?"

Disappointment washed over the girl. She thought she had pulled a decent façade. She kept it up, though, with a confused grin and a small shake of her head as she made her way to the fridge. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno. You seem kinda… blue."

"Ah, I'm just tired is all. Gotta get back on my schedule." Sam shuffled with a quiet clear of his throat in the study.

"Yeah well, it's good you're getting back out there," Dean spoke up in an exaggeratedly satisfied tone. "You've been through hell, and I think getting back into your training is just what you need to take your mind off things. I think it's a _very good decision_ to focus on your training."

Frankie furrowed her brows. That was a pretty weird way to put it. She lifted her head from the fridge and looked over to the man, but he wasn't looking at her. She turned her head into the study to see Sam glaring daggers into Dean and Dean doing likewise to Sam. So this had to do with their beef. Frankie nodded her head and shut the refrigerator door with her water-filled hands.

"Yeah, I think so, too," she responded as if nothing was going on. She stuffed water bottles into her backpack along with cereal bars as she made an effort not to look at her brothers. "I'll be back by lunch. See y'all then."

Frankie hurried out the back door as quickly as she could. Once the door shut behind her and she breathed in the fresh air, the tense twinge in her chest relaxed. Dammit, things were really bad between them. A thought peaked behind the curtain of her mind. It whispered that she was the cause of their quarreling, that it was her issues that led to their issues, but she kicked that thought right in the ass before it gave her more insecurity.

With an unclear conscience, she headed out into the woods to get back on her routine. She always loved routines…

* * *

She stumbled backwards while holding her jaw. "Ah! Dammit!" she shouted.

"Pay attention," Dean verbally shrugged. He went for another blow, but this time Frankie dodged the punch.

That was the third punch in the face that day. Her mind had been foggy since she got back on her routine, and it wasn't a mystery as to why. How could anyone pay attention with all the shit she was going through lately?

She was no closer to getting out of her deal, she had no other clues as to what her purpose was (only that the archangel Gabriel was _supposed_ to protect her), and on top of the end of the world she had her brothers to worry over. Their relationship was getting worse and it was getting more and more impossible to stop thinking that it was her fault.

When she thought about it, it kind of was. If she just listened to them and didn't go to Alabama then she wouldn't have learned of her mother's fate, wouldn't have commissioned a spell, and wouldn't have caused more danger to them. More than anything, Sam wouldn't have seen her at her lowest, at her craziest. Sam and Dean probably wouldn't have been arguing nearly as much had she just stayed put.

Punch number four made its home right on her nose. Her head jerked back as a gasped fled from her lungs. "Ow!" she exclaimed while rubbing the wounded bridge.

Dean sighed as he straightened out of his athletic position. "You're unfocused, Frankie. Worse than yesterday."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I'll be better," she quickly said while getting back into position. She held both fists in front of her as she awaited Dean's next moves.

"Frankie," the man sighed. His words were halted as the girl sent her own fists flying towards him. He dodged the unforeseen blow with an aggravated huff. His hand raised and caught the next punch Frankie sent. She stilled and refused to look the man in the eye. "That's not better. Your attention is getting worse the longer we practice."

"I'm fine. Just keep going."

" _No_ , Frankie." Dean shoved her fist back to affirm his stern tone. "If you can't focus then you're not learning. It'll do more harm than good to force it."

"Look, I'm-," Frankie started, but she wasn't sure which excuse to use. "It's just the routine. I'm getting used to being back. I'm fine."

Dean didn't look convinced. He gazed off towards the house, and then to the sun above him. "We've been at this for a couple hours. Why don't we call it a day?"

Frankie snapped her head up to her brother. "No. I can do this. I'm fine. Really! I'm not unfocused. Who's unfocused? I'm not unfocused! Heh, I'm so focused right now!"

"No, Frankie, you aren't. We're done for today." Dean began walking towards Bobby's house, Frankie following frantically behind him.

"Dean-"

"I don't wanna waste training if you can't focus. We'll pick it up tomorrow."

"Dean, I swear I'll pay attention. Please!" Frankie grabbed Dean's shoulder in a futile attempt to stop him. "I'm _not_ incompetent!"

Frankie's hand didn't stop his feet, but her words did. He narrowed his brows and glanced down at the puffy girl. "I never said you were incompetent." He turned his body towards his sister, crossing his arms over his chest. "Frankie, do you think you're incompetent?"

The girl opened her mouth, but her tongue remained still. This was what she was worried about since her last encounter with Castiel. She had been battling for two days on how she would convince Dean to keep her away from fighting. She had sworn that she wouldn't convince him of her supposed incompetence. When he first approached her about training he told her he demanded unbelievable results. Letting her insecurities get the best of her was hardly considered as 'doing a good job.'

But she didn't want to make him mad either. He was already mad at Sam. She couldn't forgive herself if she pissed him off, too. Other than that, what other way could she get out of fighting? There had to be some other way, but this seemed like the only option at hand. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts, all screaming terrible excuses and plots to get Dean off her back. But the thing was that she didn't want him off her back.

She didn't want to stay away from the fight. She wanted to be out there with Dean, standing next to him with blades drawn and guns firing. She wanted to gank demons and kill Lucifer. She wanted to save the world… but she couldn't. Not while angels could use her for a purpose she knew nothing about. Not when demons could do the same.

She had to let him think she was incompetent. She had to. If she didn't, he would lay load after load on her. If she didn't, Castiel would tear her a new one. If she didn't, she might make another mistake.

"Okay, look." She lifted her gaze to his serious eyes. "I'm not an idiot. I know what you've been going through. And I understand why you're unfocused, I do. That's why I wanna cut you some slack. But you're not incompetent."

Oh no. No, no, no, this was going the wrong way.

"After everything you've been through since we gave you a lift from that bar, you've given it your all. Everything. You've gone above and beyond for what you think is right, and then we started training, and the progress you've made? Frankie, you're the farthest from incompetent you can get."

The option to ride with her ineptitude was slipping right through her fingers. Her heartbeat pounded against her chest as she tried to think of some way to stop him, but interrupting was out of the question. She could practically hear Castiel commanding her to do something.

"I dunno. Guess I'm just not wanting to push you over the edge. To ' _overwhelm_ ' you. You don't feel overwhelmed do you?"

Frankie sucked in a breath and held it, bobbing her head from side to side in mock uncertainty.

Dean pressed his lips together. He didn't look like he was satisfied with her response. "Well, guess it don't matter in the end. I mean, I wanna make sure you're not in over your head, but let's be honest, you are. So am I. Sam, too. None of us are ready for any of this."

' _C'mon, Frankie. Do something! Get yourself outta this shit!'_

Dean looked as if he wanted to say something, something important. It seemed like a heavy subject if the firm glint in his eyes told her anything, but he chose not to act on the subject. Instead, he visibly shuddered with a sharp inhale. "Geez, any more of this chick flick crap and I'm gunna be tossing up a Cosmopolitan and quoting Oprah. C'mon. Let's go see if Bobby's got dinner started."

Frankie let out her held breath in one long, quiet groan once Dean had turned and walked back to the house. Well, there went her chance – not that she was going to do much about it. She hated the idea of looking less in his eyes. It didn't help the feeling to hear that he thought less of everybody including himself.

She lowered her head and watched the grass and gravel underneath her as she walked behind Dean, wondering how the hell she was supposed to convince him to let her stay out of the fight.

* * *

"Be careful!" Frankie shouted as she grabbed hold of the man. "Geez, Bobby. What are you trying to do? Get yourself killed?"

"I was _tryin'_ to get plates. I had it under control."

"Mmhm. Sure you did."

Frankie helped Bobby settle himself down onto the chair he tried to stand on with one leg. The man grew more stubborn the longer he sat down and he grew even more frustrated when he used his crutches. Just like Frankie, he was playing too fast and too loose with his predicament.

"You know, if you wanna get plates, you can just ask."

"I can get my own damn plates."

"Well, fine then. If you wanna crack your skull open you can do it the old fashioned way and let the demons do the job. But I'll be damned if you do so on the kitchen floor."

Bobby grumbled something unintelligible under his breath as Frankie grabbed plates to set the table. Since the night before when he dropped a saucepan of spaghetti sauce on the floor while adjusting a crutch, Frankie had taken up the role of sole chef of the house until the older man learned to control his ailment.

It pained Frankie greatly to see Bobby reduced to the struggle of a paralyzed leg. The man was so close to being the same hunter he used to be, but one leg kept him from being the same ol' Bobby. Frankie kept thanking God that only one of his legs was paralyzed instead of both (even though she was sure he had no say in the matter). However, the damage was clear, and it would be a very long time before he was the same man who took her in. Even then, it didn't look like they had that kind of time.

She worried about him. He was relentless with trying to prove his independence, but lately his efforts had gotten more and more reckless. She feared if he didn't slow down he might really injure himself. But you couldn't tell him that, oh no…

Once dinner was set, Bobby and the Winchester trio dug into the meal. It was quiet at first, tension still eating away at Sam and Dean, but Bobby was determined to force conversation so that it wasn't like the past week of silence.

"So," he spoke, "Frankie. How's trainin' goin'?"

The girl lifted her head to assess the table's reaction to the question. Dean was unfazed, of course, but Sam clenched his jaw and glared into his plate. He moved his meal around with his fork and stabbed irately at a chunk of chicken when she cleared her throat to speak.

"It's going. I've still got a lot of catching up to do, but I'm slowly gaining back progress that I lost."

The older man nodded his head as Frankie returned to her plate. The previous silence crept back into the table, and just as it had been handled before, Bobby spoke with his urging voice. "Sam. Any news on the apocalypse? Horsemen? Lucifer?"

Sam raised his head at the older man and gave a glance of hidden disappointment. "No," he sighed. "Nothing."

Bobby solemnly nodded his head. "Dean?"

The man took a moment to swallow before he cleared his throat. "Apocalypse, no. Case, yes." The other three lifted their heads to attention at the mention of anything happening outside of the house. "Northern Montana, town called Shelby. They've had kids go missing left and right for the past few weeks."

Alarm flared in Frankie at the mention of the victims. "Kids?"

"Kids. Youngest was four months old. Oldest was four years."

Frankie lowered her head with a quiet sigh. What an awful target for victims. What monster could possibly steal babies away from their families? Well, she knew a couple off the top of her head. Not the most luxurious knowledge to have.

"How many've disappeared?" Sam asked.

"Three. A fourth one was nearly taken two days ago, but the mother showed up and chased off the attacker before it could nab him."

"Did she see the attacker?"

"Police records say she didn't. But…"

"You think she did."

"Either her or the kid. Someone saw something."

"How do we know this is a case?" Bobby asked. "Sounds to me like some dirty bastard snatchin' up kids. It's damn sick, but what evidence is there that it's a monster doin' the dirty work?"

"Does it really matter?" Dean asked with a half shrug. "We've been cooped up in here for a week with nada on Lucifer or the apocalypse or even _demons_. If this sounds vaguely like a case then it's a case to me. 'Sides, worst case scenario, we get to gank a pedo. Either way it's a win."

A collective silence ensued as Bobby, Sam, and Frankie thought over the evidence and lack thereof for the case. What Dean said was true; they had been in the house for a week since their last outing and they needed a success. Maybe they would fix their stiff attitude toward each other and come back acting like brothers again. Frankie hoped so. There was only so much awkward silence she could take from them.

"Okay," Sam sighed. "Montana it is. I'll pack the bags."

Dean shoved another forkful of baked beans into his mouth before he spoke beyond the food in his cheeks. "Make it three bags."

Both Sam and Frankie froze in their seats. They stared at Dean with gaping eyes and pressed lips. They sat with their backs straight and posture rigid. They knew the controversy born from Dean's command.

"Three?" Sam echoed with a steely tone lining his voice. Frankie swallowed nervously as she had heard his irritation brewing.

Dean ignored this sign, and instead pointed his eyes to the girl sitting adjacent to him. Frankie thought a quick, incomplete prayer hoping that he wasn't about to do what he was going to do. "Frankie's ready for a field test. She's coming with us."

"What?" she immediately blurted. "No."

Dean's brows furrowed at her refusal. She winced at her loose tongue. "No? Why no?" Sam turned his head over to her as well, his face sporting a curious gaze.

Frankie tightened her fists under the table as light panic creeped up her spine. "U-Uh… w-well you said it yourself, Dean. The-the, uh… the other day, you said I was too unfocused. If I'm too unfocused for training, how can I be focused on the job?"

"That was two days ago, Frankie. You've improved since then. Hell, earlier today you had me in a ten second hold. That's _huge_ progress."

"Yeah, but Dean, I've _practiced_ holds with you. With a monster, yeesh… I haven't had that luxury."

Dean scrutinized her for the longest three seconds of her life before his face split into a half smirk paired with an understanding nod of his head. "I get it. It's like that hunting exercise, right? You're scared you'll screw up."

Frankie's attention spiked when she saw an opportunity to get out of the trip. "Yeah. Yes, I am, uh, scared of messing up. I haven't done my best this week, and I think that I should just sit this one out. I'll catch the next one, when I'm more prepared."

"Well, who knows when that'll be?" Frankie's fingers twitched as if they had just lost grip of her way out. "I don't get it. I thought you'd be bouncing in your seat with excitement. This is what you've wanted since we told you about the family business."

"I know, I know, it's just… do you really think I'm ready for it? 'Cause I don't think I'm ready for it."

"Franks, I've taught you just about everything you need to know. Pretty soon, I'll have nothing left to teach. We've been at this for months. It's time to take the training wheels off, y'know? Besides, we'll be right there beside you to make sure you're safe. Er… safe enough. Right, Sam?"

Dean looked over to his brother with an expecting gaze. Sam didn't move. He sat perfectly straight in his chair, a nasty glare on his face. "Dean. Can we talk alone?" It may have been a question, but he sure as hell wasn't asking.

Dean's lethargic face twisted into a glare that mirrored Sam's. The two quickly found themselves in a short-lived standoff that was only broken when Bobby scooched his chair away from the table.

"Well, I'm gunna hit the hay. Kid?" Frankie ripped her gaze from her scowling brothers to glance over to Bobby. "You mind helpin' me upstairs?"

Frankie now knew that serious shit was about to go down. Bobby _never_ asked for help with his leg.

"Sure," she breathed out. Anything more than a loud whisper would have been lost to the ears of the table.

Frankie quickly helped Bobby with his crutches and escorted him upstairs. As she followed the man upstairs, she looked over to her brothers in the kitchen. Sam stood up from his chair and stepped into the study while rubbing his face. If Dean followed him, Frankie didn't see, as she had made it to the second floor before any word was uttered.

Sam held his jaw in his hands as he stared at the wall. The anger buzzing in his chest needed to be grappled and bound, but the sound of his brother continuing his dinner in the kitchen made that next to impossible.

"You wanted to talk?" he grunted with a mouth full of food.

Sam twisted around once he was sure a door had been shut upstairs. "Seriously?"

Dean glanced jadedly at Sam before returning to his meal. "I'm still hungry."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Sam stepped towards the kitchen with a piercing glower. "You know that." Dean shrugged apathetically. "Five days. It's been five days, Dean. Don't tell me you've forgotten what we talked about already."

"Well, since you remind me every time any of us mentions Frankie or her training, no. I haven't."

Sam waited for him to continue, but he was met with the sounds of chewing. "So… that's it? You're just gunna ignore _everything_ I said and do the opposite?"

"Yeah. Pretty much."

Sam struggled with the words on the tip of his tongue. He bit the inside of his cheek to calm his rising temper. "Why?" he growled.

Dean sent a level glance at Sam. "Because I wanted to. You shared your thoughts about Frankie and I shared mine. A couple days of grumbling under your breath haven't changed how I see her."

"Have you even talked to her about that night? Has she even _mentioned_ Alabama to you?"

Dean's cool glance turned stony. "She doesn't need to. If anything, that's something the two of you really need to work out. 'Cause you said it yourself, Sam, she's messed up beyond reason, and you acting like she's a ticking time bomb ain't helping her."

"Because she _is_ a time bomb!" Sam bit his tongue to prevent any other fervent words from leaving it. However, the damage was done, and Dean glowered with a deep breath raising his chest. "Dean, look. What I saw wasn't the Frankie we thought we knew. Something's not right about her. She's changed. I don't know if it's all the stress and pressure or if it's all the crap about her mom, but something's wrong. You're telling me you haven't noticed?"

Dean set his fork down on the table. "No, I've noticed. But there's always something wrong. I'm Michael's vessel, Bobby's a gimp, Frankie's taking on more than she's ready for, you…" Sam swallowed down vigorous comments, and instead forced his gaze to the floor between them. "Point is, Sam, we're all screwed up. Frankie's no exception. If anything, this makes her officially part of the clan."

"No, Dean, this isn't some matter of how messed up she is. This is about how she should quit while she can. Frankie is not ready for this kind of thing."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've seen what she does under pressure! For Christ's sake, Dean, you were there! Her mom attacked you! That's why there're bruises on your ribs! That's why my head has stitches!"

"Sam-"

" _She_ _ordered a spell from a witch_. And that's not even the part I'm worried about! It's the fact that _she_ activated the spell, not the witch! I had her in my arms. She was sobbing. I thought she was fine, that she'd cry it out and realize her mistake, but she didn't! She pushed me away and finished the spell before I could stop her. She had a mission and did what she had to so that she got what she wanted. What I said didn't matter!"

" _Alright_ , I get it. You don't trust her."

"And you shouldn't trust her either! If she would curse her mother's soul, imagine how she could screw up a vamp case. Or a shifter. Imagine what she would do to her _own_ soul."

" _Sam_ ," Dean snarled, shooting a deadly scowl at his brother. Sam clenched his jaw as he matched his glower. Dean finally shoved his chair back as he stood from the table. "Y'know what, fine. Maybe I shouldn't trust her." Sam's eyebrows shot up as Dean stepped into the study. "I don't know her that well. She's been acting weird ever since we left the hospital and she's only gotten weirder. And you're right. We haven't discussed Alabama and we probably should. But let me tell you something, Sam. I do trust her. I trust her to make the right choices. I trust her to do her best where her best is needed. Because through everything she's gone through she hasn't disappointed me once. I'm not about to bench her because of one mistake."

Sam's raised brows fell, knitting together and reaching for his nose. "Really?" he rumbled. "Because that's _all_ you've been doing to me." Dean's head jerked back at his accusation. "I made a mistake, Dean. And I feel like shit because of it. There is no one that can make me feel worse about it than myself. But you find… _every_ opportunity to remind me of what I did. I see a drop of blood and you look at me like I'll go psycho. I walk out the door and you wonder if I'm coming back. I mention what happened and you make some sort of degrading remark." Sam shook his head as he stared deep into Dean's unchanging eyes. "I just need to know, Dean… would you do that to Frankie?"

Dean's lips remained still. Sam stared at his brother, sorrow drenching him. There was no way he cared more about Frankie than him. He could never. Not after everything they'd been through.

"What you did," Dean finally spoke, "wasn't one mistake. Frankie cursed her mom. Sure. _You_ ," Sam bit the insides of his cheeks at the venomous tone under Dean's voice, "well what haven't you done? Every stage of this crap you've had a hand in. Demon blood, Ruby, Lilith, Lucifer-"

"How many times do I have to say _I'm sorry_?!"

"You don't have to. It won't change a thing. Fact is, I spend too much time worryin' about your next move, and I don't think I can keep up with you anymore!"

Sam caught himself before he stumbled backwards at Dean's words. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Dean opened his mouth, but held his tongue. He stared into Sam's eyes and saw the underlay of hurt in them. Dean closed his mouth with a swallow and took a step back. "Nothing." He brought a hand up to rub at his tired face. "Nothing, forget it."

Sam's eyes fell. He felt hollow inside.

Dean didn't need to say it; he knew how many mistakes he had made recently. Each one took a piece out of him and crippled the relationships around him. He wondered when enough was enough, but Dean's heat of the moment declaration may have just answered that question.

"If you don't wanna come then fine." His eyes snapped up to Dean's retreating form. He walked into the kitchen and took out a case of beer from the fridge. "Me and Frankie got this one. Doesn't seem that difficult. I won't burden you with having to wait for her to explode."

"Seriously, Dean?" Sam exclaimed, the edge of his voice returning. "I'm not arguing this for kicks! I'm trying to protect Frankie!"

"Are you? 'Cause I've been wondering. I see the way you glare at her when she goes off for her workout. I've noticed how you huff and puff when we come back from training. Tell me, Sam, are you doing _that_ for her protection?" Sam clenched his fists at his side as Dean reentered the study. "Hm? Is that all a part of your plan to 'protect' her?"

"I don't think she should be training, yes. I think it's a waste of time. And I think her going off on a case is a waste of time. If you're going to force her into something she's not ready for, then I want no part of it."

Dean's brows lifted as he crossed his arms over his chest. "That so?"

"Obviously I have no control over any of this. She thinks she's not ready, but you say otherwise. You have final say on this whole thing, so why bother trying to intervene." Sam's hardened glower softened as his sympathy surfaced. "But I'm begging you, Dean. Don't do this. If you really care about her, you won't force her into something she doesn't wanna do."

"The hell you talking about? She wants this! It's what she's wanted since we told her about the family business! She was begging us to train her, and now you say she wants no part of it? Yeah. I'm not buying it."

Sam looked over his brother with a saddened gaze. Something happened to Dean, and he knew it was his fault. He was putting way too much care and trust into Frankie, and Sam had a good guess as to why. When he left Dean nothing but a depressed Bobby and a whiney, inexperienced Frankie he had nothing to hold onto. His brother was gone, Bobby was buried in research, and Frankie was just there in the midst of everything going wrong. Of course he would grasp the closest thing to make sense out of. Sam had no one to blame but himself.

"Dean… don't do this. Not to her. Please."

"For the last fuckin' time, Sam. I'm doing this _for_ her. She's ready. She's just nervous. Things'll be different when we get there."

Sam gave a hefty sigh as he slowly nodded his head. He crossed his own arms over his chest and looked down to the floor. "Then I'm leaving."

Dean twitched in shock. His eyes stared stone cold at Sam's resolute form, his mouth hung open. He was leaving? Again? Dean tried to cover his shock with a humorless chuckle. "No you're not." When Sam's eyes flicked into Dean's, he saw that he was serious. "No you're not," he said in a firmer tone.

"If you take her on that case with you, then I'm gone. I mean it, Dean." Dean couldn't even force words out of his mouth. "I don't want to, but I will."

Dean finally found his voice, and it emerged bitter and resentful. "'Cause that worked out so well last time."

Despite the exasperation at his remark, Sam kept a calm tone. "We've hit a snag in research. We're no closer to stopping Lucifer than we were a week ago. I can go out and find something while you slowly push our sister over the edge." Dean sucked in an incensed breath, but Sam continued before he could speak. "If you wanna drag her out into the field, I won't stand in your way. But I'm walking. You think that's the way to go? Fine. I don't. I'm sorry, but that's just what I think is best."

Dean's face twisted into a nasty, sour glower. "Y'know, that's so funny, 'cause if I remember correctly, what you thought was best got us into this crap in the first place."

Sam's cool demeanor finally failed. Enough was enough.

"I'm leaving in the morning," he growled behind clenched teeth. Before Dean could respond (not that he had anything left to say), Sam stormed passed him to march through the kitchen and out the back door, slamming it behind him.

Dean stood in the middle of the study, still and silent as he thought about Sam's proposition. The more he replayed his words in his head the tighter his fists grew, the harder his jaw clenched, the worse the pounding in his skull became until it became unbearable. He kicked at one of the stacks of books, sending them flying in all directions. He followed in Sam's footsteps and stormed out the front door.

Frankie lightly stepped down the staircase, stopping in the middle. She grasped at the railing as she gazed into the empty study.

If she thought Sam and Dean's relationship was strained before…

She lowered herself down onto the steps and sat atop them, replaying their argument in her head. It was no longer a question, a vile assumption. She was breaking them apart.

Sure, a lot of their fighting derived from Sam's mistakes and Dean's controlling attitude, but the argument itself was started by Frankie. Because of that argument, Sam was now leaving. He was leaving again. That went so very wrong the first time. What sort of horrors would happen if he left again?

Frankie couldn't go on the trip. She shouldn't be going in the first place, but that was a completely different problem with completely different consequences. This one concerned her far more than angels and demons using her for knowledge she didn't have.

Her brothers were breaking apart, and she was the cause.

When she first saw their strained relationship months ago, she had hoped to blend in with them so well that she could somehow find a way to fix it. She had siblings and didn't want the ride to end, so she felt that maybe she could bring them together as a trio. She thought that perhaps she could be the glue that formed the family she had always wanted. But how wrong she was. She wasn't glue. She was _poison_.

She was killing the family she craved, slowly but surely. Now Sam was leaving the picture once again, and she would be left with just Dean and Bobby. That wasn't such a bad thing, but Sam… she still had mixed feelings about him, but he was still her brother! She didn't want him to leave! And she didn't want to go on that stupid case! A change needed to be made soon, and, more importantly, a serious chat needed to go down.

She buried her face in her hands. She needed a drink. It wasn't long before she found Dean's case of beer that he left on the kitchen table. "Okay, kidneys," she spoke. "Time to test your worth."

* * *

Frankie sat on the couch, her hands linked in front of her and her eyes burning holes in the carpet. After a few drinks in the dimly lit kitchen, she came to the conclusion that if she was going to stop the chaos of Sam leaving before it was set loose, a talk needed to happen. The matter of which of her brothers it was she talked to depended on them and which one of them walked through the door first.

If Dean came back first… oh boy. That would be another argument in the making. He would be pissed, of course, that Frankie wanted to opt out of the case, and he'd certainly want to know why. Frankie juggled a few good excuses, but none were concrete. Dean would surely find some way to force her to tag along. But most importantly, the conversation with Dean would reveal that she wasn't as dependable as he trained her to be. That would sting. A lot. But, what needed to be done had to be done, even if it cost her the status in his eyes she worked her ass off to gain.

On the other hand, if Sam walked in first things wouldn't be any easier. There was a layer of discomfort between them too thick to ignore. Frankie didn't really want to ignore it. Sam was… kind of dangerous. He continuously made bad decisions that resulted in destructive outcomes. So, he apologized and acknowledged what he did was wrong, but that didn't change anything. The deeds were done. It was like calling cheating an accident. There were way too many steps that needed to be taken to call it a simple, honest to god accident. But between him and Dean he would be the easier to talk to. She held onto a hope that he would come in first.

A door finally opened. Frankie lifted her head to the front door where Sam stood, a silhouette against the moonlight. She let out a relieved sigh, but a nervous chill ran up her spine. The following conversation could go one of two ways, and she didn't know Sam well enough to guess how successful it would go.

"Frankie," Sam greeted with surprise in his voice. He walked further into the house as he shut the door behind him. "What're you still doing up? It's past midnight."

Frankie sucked in a breath, holding it to say a quick prayer of good luck, and spoke on her exhale. "Yeah. I, uh… I'm not really tired."

Sam stepped into the study and crossed his arms over his chest. "You'll need your rest for tomorrow." He tried and failed to hide the irritation in his voice. "Cases are hard business. You'll need to be focused."

Frankie snorted halfheartedly. "So I've heard." She flicked her eyes up to the man, anxieties clawing at her neck. "Look, um… Sam, we… can we talk? For a minute? Please?"

Even in the dim lit room she could the suspicion on his face. "Yeah, sure. Um…" He glanced around the room for a place to sit. After a few awkward seconds, Frankie let out a sigh. She threw aside her discomfort and scooted to one side of the couch, inviting him to sit next to her. He hesitated, but set himself down next to her. Soon they were both gazing at the carpet under their feet.

Now came the moment where Frankie needed to talk. This was the hard part. "So, Sam." And that was it. That was all she had prepared. Frankie lifted her hand to her face and rubbed all the crevices deeply.

"You okay?" he asked her.

"No, Sam. I'm really not." She removed her hands with a sniff, linking them together in her lap once more. "I don't really know how to begin this kinda thing, so… guess I'll just start by, uh…" Her mind went blank once more. Even with the alcohol in her system, she couldn't relax. "Shit," she sighed, dropping her head in defeat.

"Uh… it's okay. It's fine. Just, uh… rip off the bandage."

"That's a lotta bandages to rip off, I'm just tellin' you."

"Am I… in trouble?"

"No! No, Sam. No, _I'm_ in trouble here." Frankie humorlessly chuckled and shook her head at her own pitifulness.

"Frankie." The hesitance in his voice gathered her attention. "Whatever you hafta say, just say it. It's okay. You can tell me."

She pressed her lips firmly together as she looked into his eyes. Those eyes didn't belong to a dangerous man. She sighed as she tightened her linked fingers. She turned her head back to the floor in front of her.

"I think… we need to talk about Alabama. About that night." Sam slowly inhaled and released his breath in an even slower sigh. "I'm… Sam, I'm so ashamed. What I did… was… god, I'm still trying to figure out what the fuck happened. What I did, that wasn't me. But it _was_ me. I did what I feared I'd do since I started this whole mess." She gazed back at Sam, a haunted look in her eyes. "I screwed up. Big time. There's no getting around it. I was careless, reckless, I was… crazy."

Sam swallowed, the lump in his throat bobbing as he readied any sort of response. "Look… Frankie, we all do stupid stuff when we're mad-"

"Stupid? Stupid, Sam? That was insane! My mom was fine the way she was – God knows where – and then I go and pull a stunt like that? I knew the consequences and still went through with what I knew was wrong!"

"Look, you just heard all the stuff she did, you were upset, anyone could make that kind of mistake."

"No. _I_ would make that kind of mistake. This isn't some case of right or wrong in the heat of the moment. This is a matter of me knowing I was making a big fuckin' boo boo and not giving a shit as long as I got what I wanted in the end. And I still didn't get what I wanted, thank God. I would be worse now with that knowledge."

Frankie raked a hand through her hair and let out a soft groan. "I know my mistake. And I thought I could make it better, that I could somehow justify and make sense of my choice." She shook her head, shutting her eyes. "No. No, not with Dean's eagerness to get me back into the fight. Not with all the training and 'progress' I've been making. I haven't been making any goddamn progress. I've just been doing what he tells me to do. How does that train me to not make another mistake like that? I think… I think it may be something that can't be taught. Maybe I'm just destined to make the wrong choices."

"No. You're not." Sam shifted his body on the couch so that he was facing her. "Nobody is born just to make mistakes."

"So you're saying it's just me doing all the wrong things."

"Wha- no. I'm not."

"No, no! I totally agree! Sam, I'm not… a good person. I like to believe that I am, but… I'm not."

Sam took a deep breath. "Frankie, you're a great person." She scoffed. "You are. You've gone on a search for your father with very little resources-"

"So I could have his kidney."

"You saved Adam and Kate from that ghoul-"

"Completely on accident."

"Uh… you followed Jimmy to make sure he wasn't taken by demons-"

"For my own selfish gain.

"You… y-you kept up research to save the world while you were on your deathbed-"

"'Cause there was nothing else to do."

"You… uh, you-"

"Continuously lied and disobeyed orders and requests to get what I wanted, put myself and others in danger, nearly got myself killed numerous times, became a burden to my brothers, got my remaining family killed, conspired with a witch, cursed my mother's soul, nearly got my brothers killed, Sam," Frankie gazed helplessly into her brother's eyes with a huff, "I'm not a good person."

Sam lightly shook his head in confusion. "Wait… you didn't kill your family. That was an accident."

Frankie set her jaw. She internally cursed for letting that tidbit of secrecy slip. "No, I did. Call it what you want. Bad luck, karma, whatever. I made that happen. If I wasn't in the hospital they wouldn't have come to the states."

"That's crazy, Frankie. None of that was your fault."

The girl dropped her eyes to the space between them. "Maybe. Thing is I'm not fit to be a hunter. I want to be – god, do I want to. I feel like… like I'm meant to hunt. I mean I spent my whole life researching the very creatures hunters kill and I didn't even know they were real. Now I know and my brothers hunt them? It's destiny. At least… it would be if I were cut out for it. You said it yourself, Sam. I'm not ready to be out in the field. I won't ever be, probably."

She knew exactly why Sam hesitated. She bit her lip, waiting for him to realize the meaning to her words. "Wait…when did I say that?" Frankie slowly turned her head to look him dead in the eye. She didn't need to say a word. The knowing glint in her pupils told him exactly what he needed to know. He despondently huffed. "Oh, Frankie. I'm sorry you had to…" He brought his hands up to rub at his face. "How much did you hear?"

"I chimed in right about the time when it's mentioned that I'm a ticking time bomb."

Sam nodded his head with a regretful frown. "I'm so sor-"

"Don't." Sam snapped his head over to the girl. "Don't apologize. You're right. Who knows when the next time I screw up will be? Probably tomorrow morning." She swallowed, readying a risky breath. "I'll probably do something to stop you from leaving." Sam's lips struggled with something to say. They eventually pressed together with a sigh escaping his nostrils. "Please don't leave," Frankie whispered.

"Frankie… I have to."

"No. No you don't!" Frankie mirrored Sam and turned her body towards him. "Go in my place. You and Dean go on the case. I don't even wanna go!"

"You don't? Well, you gotta tell Dean. Frankie, if you're not comfortable just tell him. He'll understand."

She scrunched her face in an uncertain grimace. "Will he? Trust me, I would tell him if I could, but… he really wants me to go. I don't think he'll let me stay even if I do ask. Besides, I don't wanna seem… I don't wanna seem less in his eyes."

"It's better to be less in his eyes than _dead_. Tell him. If you don't I will."

"You think he'll listen to you over me? I don't think so. Not after the argument I heard."

"Yeah," Sam sighed, "you gotta point. Still, Frankie, we can't force you into this. We know what you've gone through, me _and_ Dean. Besides, Bobby needs help here, even if he won't admit it."

Frankie's brow faintly quirked up. That was true. Bobby did need all the help he could get. He nearly killed himself just that night. That was a good excuse to stay away from the fight. That was something she could use. But… would it be enough to convince Dean? No, probably not. She could imagine the conversion right then and there.

' _Dean, what about Bobby?'_

' _What about him?'_

' _He needs my help. I should stay here and watch after him. What if a demon comes and he can't get to his gun?'_

' _He knows what he's doing. He's worked miracles before. Now come help me load the car.'_

So then what was she going to do? She looked over Sam, thinking of her best options.

She didn't _just_ want to stay out of the fight. She also wanted to bring Sam and Dean closer again, to stop the petty fighting. She wanted to be the glue, _not_ the poison. The only way she could do that was to give them each a common goal. They all needed a victory, together.

"What if-" She caught herself, assessing her suggestion one last time before giving it the final approval. "What if you came with us?"

"Frankie," Sam sighed. "No. I can't. I don't want you to go either. I'll only go if you don't."

"You know Dean'll force me. I'm going whether I have a say or not."

"Then I won't go."

"Sam. Ugh, look. We both know three heads are better than one. Think about it, we all need a victory. _All_ of us. We do this case, I think we'll all be in a better mood by Sunday. And maybe… some of this fighting that's been going on can stop. Whuduya think?"

Sam shut his eyes as he raked his fingers through his hair. "Nothing's gunna stop the fighting. That's part of why I'm leaving." Frankie narrowed her brows. "Dean and I have been fighting for a long time. These past few mistakes that I've made are just the most recent. I'm… I'm not that good person either."

Frankie and Sam both looked at the carpet in front of them, both linking their hands on their knees. "Least we have that in common." Frankie dared to glance at Sam, but retracted the gaze before she spoke again. "I know things are strained between y'all."

"Understatement."

"But maybe… maybe y'all could try and work passed all the crap that's been going on."

"Easier said than done," he sighed with a shrug.

"Believe me, I know. But let's be honest here. You broke the world." Sam shuffled discomforted in his seat. Frankie finally shifted her gaze to him and kept it there. "So go out there and fix it." Sam met her gaze. "Dean wants to fix it just as badly as you do. And so do I. We'll help you. 'Cause that's what we need to do to save this world from Michael and Lucifer's shit show. Right now we need all the help we can get and keep it close. We _can_ do this as long as we keep each other close."

Sam gave a skeptical look. "You really think we can?"

"I want to. So I will," she answered with a shrug.

A corner of Sam's mouth lifted. "Guess we have stubbornness in common, too." A corner of Frankie's mouth lifted as well.

"We've been showered in defeat. All we need is one good victory, and then… and then we'll be back on track, right? Maybe all you and Dean need is to be reminded how good y'all work together. Y'all… do work well together, right?"

Sam snorted with a small shake of his head. "We used to."

"See? Dean just needs to see that again."

"I think you're forgetting the part where I betrayed him and ran off with a demon to end the world. I don't think he's gunna turn so easily."

"I never said it would be easy." Frankie swished the words in her mouth around before setting them free. "All I'm saying is that, since the world is ending anyways, maybe you should make up before it's too late."

Sam's brows furrowed before he gazed into Frankie's pressing gaze. He could see genuine intention in her eyes even if it was misguided. There was no way Dean would forgive him after all he'd done, but that wasn't what Frankie was suggesting now, was she? She wanted them to make amends and work together again, even if forgiveness wasn't in the picture.

Sam swallowed down the disappointment that came with that notion. He gave a negotiating sigh. "Okay. Since you're so nervous over the case and since you're sure Dean won't let you out of it, I'll go with you guys and make sure you're safe."

Frankie let out a heavy relieved sigh.

"But I'm leaving after that."

Then her head jerked back in shock.

"W-What? Isn't that kinda the opposite of what I'm going with here?"

"I'll help out with the case since you're not ready. But the only way Dean is gunna stop harassing me is if we're apart. Besides, I stand by my point. We don't have anything on Lucifer, demons, angels, any of 'em. I'll go out and scout, then report back here. If you and Dean go out on cases, I'll do the real work."

"But Sam-"

"Frankie, that's my final offer. You say go fix my mistake, I'll go out and find a solution to the apocalypse. That's exactly what you want me to do. So I'll do it."

Frankie huffed as she tried to find some other way to make him stay. "Oh! Bobby! If me and Dean are gone on cases, someone has to be here for him. What if he gets in trouble or hurts himself?"

"Eh, he knows what he's doing. He's worked miracles before."

Frankie's face fell into a deadpan stare.

"Are you happy with my offer or not?"

"No," Frankie grunted. "But… it's the only one I've got, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Then," she breathed out in a frustrated huff, "guess I can't refuse."

' _But I can change your mind,'_ she thought.

The whole point of the argument was to get Sam onto the case and bring him and Dean together again into a working pair. She would make that happen if it killed her. Which… it probably would. After all, she was going out into danger, the one thing Castiel told her not to do. Well, that and not reveal their secret. This would be smack-dab into danger. So… she wouldn't get caught. She was going to have Sam and Dean by her side. There was no way they'd let her get caught by angels or demons. Yeah, she'd be fine.

She hoped.

"Deal?" Sam asked.

Frankie grimaced, remembering the last time she was asked that question. "No. I don't do deals. How 'bout I just disgruntledly agree to your terms." Sam shrugged in agreement. "Fine then." Frankie stood up from the couch and pressed on her back, cracking her spine. "Guess I should get to sleep. I'll need it for tomorrow." She gazed suspiciously at Sam. "You're still gunna be here when I wake up, right? This isn't gunna be some situation where you lead me on only to leave anyway before sunrise and I'm left looking like a fuckin' doof, right?"

Sam huffed out a small chuckle. "Uh, no. I'll be here. Don't worry."

Frankie gave a groan as she walked towards the staircase. "Worry is all I have room for in this husk of a body. That's not about to change."

' _But your mind is,'_ she told herself as she walked up the stairs to her room.


	29. Chapter 28 - Case pt 1

**A/N: Split it into a two-parter to get it out quicker. Sorry that it wasn't soon enough.**

* * *

When Frankie went downstairs the next morning, she saw exactly what she expected. Sam was dressed in his jacket and red flannel while zipping up the final bag for the trip. She knew it was his. It was the largest one. He turned his head to the entering girl and gave a small smile paired with a weak greeting.

She struggled to smile back when she approached him. She spotted her duffel bag in the small pile. Her fragile smile fell. It seemed like so long ago that she traveled to Bobby's house with it in tow. She shook her head of the unsure emotion coursing through her brain and slugged the bag over her shoulder.

"Mornin', Franks." She whipped her head to the threshold of the kitchen where Dean had just strutted in. He held up a cereal bar in his hand before tossing it to the girl on the other side of the room. She caught it with one hand and proceeded to unwrap and consume the mediocre breakfast.

Dean stepped further into the room to approach the girl. "Big day. You ready?"

Frankie gave a lazy half shrug. "As I'll ever be," she muttered with a full mouth.

"Eh, don't worry 'bout a thing. Anything goes screwy I'll be right there next to you."

' _Or on the ground groaning like last time…'_ she thought. She voted against saying that aloud.

"You mean screwier than usual?"

"Trust me. Things get a lot weirder. This'll be a very… _educational_ trip for you."

Frankie rolled her eyes with a huff. "Why do I feel like Arnold going on one of Miss Frizzle's wild ass shenanigans?"

"Oh c'mon. It's not gunna be _that_ bad. Trust me. You might actually like it." Dean grabbed his jacket from the couch and tugged it onto his shoulders. "'Sides, you're more like Dorothy."

Frankie quirked a brow and cracked a smile. "Carlos…," she mocked. Dean made a move to roll his eyes, but that action failed as he nodded with an agreeing smirk.

Sam cleared his throat, which gathered the attention of Frankie and Dean. His face held a cold, steely gaze. "We need to avoid traffic."

And just like that, the small easygoing air that Frankie and Dean had built was sucked out of the room. Dean shoved a stern frown onto his face before snatching his bag. He didn't say a word as he walked around Sam and headed outside. Sam followed behind him, his attitude differing very little from his brother's.

Frankie sighed. This was going to be hard as shit. If they were already in a bad mood, the day was only going to go by slower. Which was… a good thing! Then Frankie had more time to get them to see how stupid their fighting really was. Nonetheless, she was going to have one helluva car ride to struggle through.

Frankie took a deep breath to cleanse herself of the stress already piling onto her shoulder. She turned around, forcing a small smile onto her face as she walked into the kitchen. "Guess I'm gone," she sighed to Bobby, sitting at the table. She rested a comforting hand on his shoulder as he scanned through various papers under him. "You sure you'll be fine here alone?"

"Yer really gunna ask me that every time you walk out this house, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Better get used to it."

The older man huffed, but it wasn't filled with spite. "Well, good luck then. With the case _and_ the boys."

Frankie tightened her smile as she glanced to the front door. "I'm gunna need it," she sighed.

"Anyone's guess what's crawled up their crevasses this mornin', but I'm sure you'll get by."

"I hope so. Bye, Bobby. See you in a couple days. Don't die, okay?"

"Sure. See ya, kid."

She waked outside, immediately spotting the shining Impala in her usual parking space. What surprised her was the presence of a less shining Buick parked in front of the porch. Frankie's brows narrowed as she watched Sam shut the trunk to the unfamiliar car. He turned and sent her a tight lipped nod before ducking into the driver's seat.

Oh no. Oh crap, that put a damper on things. They were driving in separate cars? She looked over to Dean crouching into the Impala. He honked the horn twice, commanding her to hurry up.

Great. A couple hours of riding with just Dean. There wasn't anything wrong with that – aside from the discomfort from having lied to him and needing to avoid revealing her many secrets – but she had been preparing for a long car ride with both of her brothers. That was going to be the first step of stopping the fighting between them. Unfortunately, they stomped on that idea right out of the gate.

She shook her head as she walked to the back of the Impala and tossed her bag in the trunk. This was going to be harder than she thought.

Frankie approached the passenger side of the Impala and sat in shotgun. It felt wrong. That was Sam's seat. She felt very uncomfortable, and if Dean noticed he ignored the discomfort.

Dean drove the car down stretching straight roads, Sam following behind in his busted up car. The traffic was mild. The occasional diner or shopping district passed by the windows, but trees and powerlines were the prominent setting.

Frankie already felt the unease of the entire trip creep under her skin. She had a helluva lot to do before they solved the case. She had to somehow get Sam and Dean on neutral ground. It was easier said than done.

Their main subject of argument in recent days was her. Which was just great. Dean wanted her in the fight, Sam wanted her nowhere near the fight, and Castiel expected her to be as far away from the fight as possible. Did her opinion matter at all?

She wanted to be in the fight, too, but she knew it wasn't that easy. Take away all troubles having to do with her selling her soul or the brand on it and she still had shit to worry about. She went ballistic when she found out that her mother lied to her all those years. With such emotions tied to her, would she do something similar if Sam or Dean were in trouble? Would she go ballistic again? Would she end up seriously hurting them?

She closed her eyes and swallowed down a lump in her throat. She had to stay on topic. How was she going to bring them to neutral ground about her?

Suddenly, the radio turned on and was immediately buzzing with static. Frankie whipped her head over to Dean who was twisting the knob while keeping his eyes on the road.

"Let's get some tunes up in here, huh?"

Frankie supposed he was feeling the awkward air in the car as much as she was.

The radio hissed and blurted out the occasional station before it found one that came in clear.

" _Just another heart in need of rescue. Waitin' on love's sweet charity!_ "

"Aye, there we go. You like this song, right?"

The lump in Frankie's throat resurfaced as she listened to that damn song chime through the speakers. David Coverdale's blaring voice soon melted into her mother's off pitched squeals.

"' _Cause I know what it means, to walk along the lonely street of dreams!_ "

"Turn it off."

Dean snapped his head over to the girl, but she had forced her gaze out her window to avoid any clear emotions from being displayed. "What?" he asked.

" _And here I go again on my own! Walkin' down the only road I've ever known!_ "

"Just- please change the song. Please."

With narrowed brows and a confused frown, Dean's fingers returned to the knob.

" _Like a drifter, I was born to walk_ -"

The radio hissed a series of faint notes before another station tuned in. Dean lowered the volume so it wasn't booming throughout the car.

"I'm sorry. I coulda sworn you said you liked that song."

Frankie shook her head, watching the light reflection of her hair against the glass bounce on her shoulders. "I used to."

"Hey, say no more. I get it. Songs can bring up some crap memories. 'S why I change the station every time Cat's in the Cradle comes on." Frankie nearly turned her head back to Dean with a curious expression, but before she could act he had cleared his throat to move along from the subject. "So, y'know, this might be a good opportunity to learn more about you. I feel like I don't know half the important things I gotta know."

"Like what?" Frankie was speaking with half passiveness and half curiosity.

"Like, what's your favorite kinda music?"

"That's important?"

"Oh hell yeah. You don't just _know_ someone without knowin' what they listen to. That's conversing 101."

Frankie snorted. She was pretty sure that wasn't the real reason and that he was just trying to fill in the silence, but she complied nonetheless. She adjusted herself in her seat, but kept her gaze out the window. "Okay then. Well, let me see. My favorite music…"

"You do know, don't you?"

"Shut up, I'm thinking." Dean snorted as he passed a car going too slow ahead of him. Frankie watched as Sam did the same in the side mirror. "Um… well I listened to a lot of Rascal Flatts in high school."

"Who?"

"They're, uh… they're a country band."

Dean stuck out his tongue with a mocking, "Bleh."

Frankie sent him a playfully indignant look. "Well, alright, your honor. Didn't know I was on trial here."

"No, no. That's… your thing. I mean, it makes sense for a hick like yourself."

Frankie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well I'm not one to pass up a decent classic rock hit every now and then."

"Now we're talking."

"But I'm not married to it like you so obviously are." Dean gave an understanding nod. "I'll admit, a few Rascal Flatts songs are pretty wishy washy, but I guess if I had to pick something solid, something I would call my favorite…," Frankie looked up to the roof of the car as if it had the answer, "I would give that title to Big Band. Yeah."

"Really? Big Band?" Dean peeked a quick glance at her. "Kinda old for a twenty-something year old."

Frankie shrugged. "My grandma had records. Played them a lot when I was young. And… after she passed I still kept them around. Sorta kept her around, too, y'know?"

Dean narrowed his eyebrows with a short hum. "Like those notes your mom left you?"

Frankie bit down on the inside of her cheek. She leaned deeper into her seat, pushing herself harder against it to try and feel any sort of security. "Yeah. Like that."

The car drifted back into silence. Dean kicked his ass over mentioning her mom like that. He knew it was too soon to bring her up, yet he did anyway. He tried to find some way to lighten the mood again.

"But other than that I don't have a lot of other music I listen to," Frankie continued, much to Dean's relief. "Oh! Well, I know country's really not your thing, but I do like listening to Johnny Cash when he comes on the radio."

"Hey now, _that_ I can agree with. I like a few of his songs, uh… The Gambler! Now that's a good song. Do I have any of his cassettes…?" Dean rummaged around his collection of cassette tapes for a few seconds before his face evened out to a thwarted gaze. "Nah. Still, least we got something in common."

As the conversation died out, the car threatened to resort back to its quiet state. Frankie avoided it by quickly changing the subject. "So what do I need to know about the case? Was there anything else in the reports?"

Dean adjusted his grip on the wheel as he glanced over to the girl. "Sound pretty eager for someone who's 'not ready' to go on a case." Frankie made a move to respond to the man, but with nothing to say that wouldn't give away her reluctance to go on the case she shut her mouth and turned her gaze forward through the windshield. Dean lingered his gaze on her, wondering over her off reaction, before looking out the glass as well. "No. Not much else. Just the names of the victims, their parents, and their last whereabouts. I have the article in the backseat if you wanna take a look."

Frankie reached behind Dean's seat and grasped the papers. On them was the printed article stating everything he had told her. "It says the first three kids were taken from the same place. Some daycare facility. Guess we know where to look."

"I thought that, too," Dean said with a nod. "Read about the latest victim."

Frankie switched papers and read the bit about the fourth child. "'Dalton Harris, aged four years old, was victim to a near kidnapping in his… family's residence last Monday evening. Loren Harris, Dalton's mother, had just arrived home after work to find the intruder standing over his crib before they fled through the open window of the second story house. Authorities have not confirmed the connection between these disappearances.'" Frankie slapped the papers onto her lap as she looked over to Dean. "Well that changes things."

"Eh, well… maybe it doesn't. We'll know as soon as we get there, but I'm thinking we can maybe solve this a little faster if we find some sulfur at the crime scenes."

Frankie thought over 'sulfur' for a few seconds before making the connection. "You think this has some demon affiliation?"

Dean sent her an impressed look. "Maybe. Could explain where they've been for the past couple weeks."

"And if it's not?"

Dean hesitated, his mouth open and biting back words he was unsure of. "Eh, we'll figure it out. I got a kryptonologist with me. We'll solve it in no time."

Frankie smirked at his obvious mistreatment of her self-declared title. " _Cryptozoologist_."

"Right, right. Never hurts to have a monster expert on a hunt. By the way, you got any idea off the top of your head what this thing might be?"

"Eh… baby nabbing is kind of a popular thing with cryptids and monsters. Kappa, fairies, hags, Aswang typically target unborn fetuses but in this day and age I guess they can't be too picky."

Dean chuckled and nodded. "Ain't that the truth."

"I won't really be sure until I see the crime scenes. Of course… having a body to examine would be helpful, but that doesn't seem feasible yet. Best thing we can go on is what Dalton or his mother might've seen before the thing fled."

Dean nodded. "Don't worry. We got plenty of interviewing ahead of us. I wasn't kidding when I said this would be educational." Dean furrowed his brows when he remembered a crucial detail of their plan. "Hey, what size suit do you where?"

Frankie's eyes widened as she snapped her head over to her brother. "Excuse me?"

* * *

After a trip through the drive through at a burger chain, an awkward stop at a thrift shop for a decent suit, and numerous bathroom breaks, they arrived just outside of Shelby by midnight. They were all exhausted and ready for a much needed rest.

They pulled into the first motel they spotted before entering Shelby and purchased two rooms. This was the second time Frankie was aware of the horrible snag in her brothers' relationship _and_ in her plan. Sam took one bedroom for himself, leaving Dean and Frankie in a room together. Well… at least this time Frankie wouldn't have to give up her bed.

Frankie sat on the edge of her grimy, moth-eaten bed as Dean brushed his teeth and kicked off his shoes at the same time. She stripped her feet of her socks, enjoying the fresh air hitting her toes. But the trivial leisure didn't distract her from the bigger issue.

Not only were her chances of fixing their riff becoming more and more inaccessible, but she still had no idea how she was going to pull the feat off. With little to go on, she would have terrible luck in being successful. So to find an edge to work with she would need some sort of mindset between her brothers.

She glanced over to Dean spitting in the sink and wiping his face off with a rag she was certain wasn't properly cleaned. She grimaced, but focused on her current emotion. "Hey, Dean."

"Yeah," he answered while unbuttoning his shirt to reveal another one underneath.

Frankie swished the words she wanted to say in her mouth, tasting them to make sure they were right. "How's this gunna work? Y'know, with you and Sam doing all the talking at the interviews? I mean, y'all can barely look at each other."

Dean nodded understandingly. "Look, we may not agree on things right now, but we still have a job to do. This gig was never about personal stuff anyway." Frankie looked away as Dean changed out of jeans for sweatpants. "The people come first. Always. The family business is just as much about saving people as it is about hunting things."

"But… wait, I thought family always came first." When Frankie looked back over at Dean, he was on his bed and lifting the covers over his body.

"Not in this job."

Frankie followed her brother and burrowed under the blankets of her bed. She propped herself up on her elbow as she looked over at Dean. She bit her lip, hesitating her addition to the conversation. "What if Sam was in trouble? Like, if a monster or demon got to him and was about to kill him, but was also about to kill some random dude. Who would you choose?"

Dean met her gaze with furrowed brows, a suspicious glint in his eyes. "What's with this kinda talk? Why're you bringing it up now?"

"I-I'm just… trying to figure out where my loyalties should lie. If I had to choose between you or an innocent person-"

"You save the person."

Frankie felt a twinge in her chest. That didn't seem right either. "But if saving you meant we could save even _more_ people, then should I still save the one random guy who wandered right into the supposed claws of the monster? I mean, he didn't even _try_ to stay away from the danger, I mean really!"

"Frankie," Dean grunted. She closed her mouth and swallowed at the steely sound of his voice. He noticed her submissive reaction and sighed. He rubbed his face before propping himself up on his elbow as well. "Look, this job is about saving people. We don't just let people die."

Frankie bit her tongue to stop and think about her response. She pressed on despite her conscience throwing a fit. "What about those demons we killed? Their meat suits were innocent people, too. We let those people die."

Dean looked down at the carpeted floor that separated their beds. His chest rose and fell with a burdened sigh. "We can't save everyone. We'll try, you bet your ass we will, but… no matter what case we work on, someone _will_ get hurt. Even die. It's part of the whole process. It's crap, but it's the one we got. To save everyone else, sacrifices hafta be made. If that sacrifice is us, then dammit, it'll be us."

Frankie held onto his words and stuffed them in her mind. She would have to remember them when she was faced with her future enemies. God knows she would choose her brothers over innocents. She couldn't live on if her remaining family died, too, especially at her hands. Stubborn as it was, she didn't want to lose them, to be alone.

She lifted her eyes into his. He had been looking at her, a curious glint behind his tired gaze. "One more hypothetical." He was pestered, but nodded. "If you had to choose between Sam or me." That pestered expression drastically changed into a look of shear insult. "Who would be the sacrifice there?"

"Frankie, why the hell are you asking me this?" All she could do was half shrug and avert her eyes. "You look at me." She stared a nasty nick on the nightstand. " _Look_ at me." Feeling his brash tone quiver her bones, Frankie forced her eyes into his intense pupils, darkened by his furrowed brows. "I will _never_ make that decision unless I'm met with it. I'm not gunna spend a single goddamn moment answering that question unless I have to and even then I won't give an answer. Don't you _ever_ ask me to choose between you or Sam, I don't wanna hear that again. As long as I'm breathin' that situation will _never_ happen, do you understand me?"

Frankie was both disappointed and relieved to not have an answer to her question and nodded at the man. He muttered a curt, "G'night," before rolling over and waiting for sleep to claim him.

Frankie rolled over onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She got both an answer and nothing at the same time. Dean told her what she needed to know, and that was that none of them mattered. It was the people who mattered. If they died in the process then, hell, that was just part of the job.

But when paired with just family, when no innocent lives were at risk and it was just them, the fidelities changed. Dean would rather not choose between Sam and herself. He might even offer his own life in return. That told her something crucial: that even though Sam had mucked it up big time, he would rather see him a walking disappointment then a dead one. She could work with that. Now she had a place to work back from.

The sloppy details of her plan drifted from her mind as she succumbed to sleep.

* * *

Frankie flattened her hands over the lapels of her blazer as she observed herself in the mirror. Her hands slithered across her chest to straighten and tighten her dark yellow tie. Her eyes lifted to her face, assessing her hair forced into a tight bun. She liked the look of her hair in the professional updo, but the sight of her ear sickened her and she took it down.

She wiped away a small smudge on her pink lipstick. Dean had advised against the makeup – what little she used – but she thought it best to use a fully professional look. Her brothers could pull off moderately combed hair and a little stubble, but flushed cheeks and cracked lips? Didn't really sell the whole FBI agent thing.

The one thing she was actually unsure of was the tie. It was definitely more of a guy thing. Most professional business women she had seen didn't wear them. She looked over her shoulder to Dean as he tied his black oxford shoes.

"Do you think I should go with the tie?"

Dean looked over to the girl and narrowed his eyes on the yellow necktie. He shrugged. "What the hell. It's two thousand nine. Go crazy. Not too crazy 'bout the color." Frankie smirked as he grimaced and tied his other shoe.

When the two were put together, they walked out of their room and next door to Sam's. Frankie stood behind her brother as he knocked on his door with the side of his fist. He only needed to knock twice before Sam opened the door, standing in his nice black suit and red striped tie.

His eyes landed on Frankie. He scanned her outfit with a satisfied nod. "You look good," he said. Frankie gave a small smile.

"C'mon," Dean briskly hurried. Sam hardened his gaze as he closed the door to his room and followed Dean to the Impala.

Frankie was surprised that Sam was riding with them. After all, he brought his own perfectly terrible car to use, but she supposed an FBI agent wouldn't look very credible in a rusty old Buick.

She climbed into her seat behind Dean, feeling more comfortable than in shotgun. Dean got on the road and drove off to their first destination, which was, no doubt, the daycare where most victims were taken. In the meantime, the car was silent.

Frankie looked at the back of both of her brother's heads. She didn't get to act before, but now was her chance. She tapped her thumbs together in her lap, searching for something to start up a conversation.

"I was wondering about the case," she spoke up, her voice surprisingly even and collected, "about what thing could be taking these kids. I've been thinking that this could maybe be a pukwudgie."

"A who-what-now?" Dean blurted.

"Pukwudgie. It's a creature described by the Wampanoag tribe in Native American folklore. They're indigenous to North America and have been known to steal children in some instances. Uh, the pukwudgie, not the Wampanoag people." Frankie cleared her throat as she narrowed her sights on Sam. "Whuduya think, Sam? Any idea what's taking the kids?"

Sam perked up in his seat. He obviously was not expecting to be singled out, but seemed receptive to her attention. "I don't know. Not yet. Honestly, I think this might have something to do with demons."

Frankie also perked up in her seat. "Oh yeah? Dean thought demons, too. Y'all think this could have something to do with Lucifer or something?" Frankie waited for them to answer, hoping that they would collaborate on an answer. Instead, she was met with a short silence followed by Dean's level voice.

"I wouldn't go _that_ far, but, hell, anything's possible. We'll find out more when we get there."

Frankie was a little disappointed by Sam's lack of contribution, but her hope perked up when the man cleared his throat and opened a folder in his lap.

"Well, I don't know about Lucifer, but I _have_ been doing some digging around and I've found a connection between the victims." Frankie slightly leaned forward in her seat, showing interest in the development. Dean showed interest as well by turning his head slightly towards his brother. "Aside from the fact that all four of the children regularly used Hopewell Childcare Center, the families are all active members in the community. Mr. Mcculloch is president of the PTA at a local high school, Mrs. Crawford runs a soup kitchen in town, Mr. _and_ Mrs. Hodson are on the board of directors of the homeowner's association, and Mrs. Harris is vice president of the local community theater."

"So, what? This thing's targeting the kids of soccer moms and workaholics?" Dean questioned.

"I guess with so much to do outside of the home, it's easy to snatch up their kids."

"But why not nab any other child at the daycare?" Frankie inquired. "I mean, if they're already there then what's the difference if their parents aren't watching them? What makes them so special?"

"I don't know. Maybe there's some sort of feud between them and the monster?"

"Oh yeah. Monster gets beef for using above ground sprinklers and owning fences taller than five feet. Kidnapping the kid of an HOA board member makes perfect sense," Dean quipped.

"Not sure why demons would care about thespians and members of the PTA," Frankie added. "Maybe there's some other connection."

"Maybe," Sam said. "Let's hope we find one before another kid turns up missing."

"Or worse," Frankie muttered. Silence followed, though she didn't mind it this time as they soon approached their destination.

Dean pulled into the parking lot of the daycare center. It was a colorful building with a red and orange awning covering windows with rainbow lettering spelling out 'Hopewell Childcare Center.' Children's screams could be heard from an outdoor playground behind a wall with each large brick illustrated with different children's paintings. It seemed like a run of the mill well-funded daycare center.

"Remember, Franks. Let us do the talking," Dean instructed. She nodded as he reached back and handed her something: a small folded item that looked like a leather wallet. "Take this. It's a badge. Take it out when we do."

Frankie felt a surge of excitement bubble up inside her. She was going all James Bond in this bitch. She opened the badge and frowned at her picture.

"I didn't have one ready for you, so I just used one of Sam's and colored in some lipstick. Just don't hold it too close to anybody and they won't notice." Frankie wasn't impressed, but she hid it with a half-grateful smile.

Sam, Dean, and Frankie entered the building. They were immediately hit with the smell of crayons and lemon Pledge as they strolled under the soft AC positioned above the door. The lobby was empty, but the ring of the bell on the front door signaled a young man in a pastel blue shirt with the center's name written across his chest. He approached the trio behind the front desk with a beaming smile.

"How can I help you folks today?"

As an immediate response, Sam and Dean revealed their badges and held them next to their heads. Frankie hurried and fumbled to copy them as Dean broke into his spiel. "Agents Martin and Davis. This is deputy agent Sinatra." Frankie put on her most convincing resolute face as the man's eyes fell on the short girl standing next to the two hulking agents.

"FBI?" the man peeped, switching his gaze timidly to Sam and Dean. He then deflated into a solemn understanding expression. "This is about the missing kids, huh?"

"Yes, it is," Sam answered. "The first three cases took place at this establishment, correct?"

"Yeah. Horrible, horrible thing."

"What can you tell us about the kidnappings?" Dean asked. He used a no-nonsense voice, one Frankie had become quite unfazed and accustomed to.

"Not much. They all happened off my shift."

"Who was here when they took place?"

"Well, that's the thing. They happened at different times of day. Different people were around when the first three were taken. I don't think one person was here for all of 'em. Bernice, I think, was around for two of 'em. She might know more about it than I do. She's in her office. I'll show you."

"Thank you," Sam said with a nod of his head.

The man rounded the counter and led them down an adjacent hallway. The hall had four doors, each one for a different age group. The first door was the nursery, second was for children two to three, the third was for children four to five, and the fourth room was for children six and older.

"The first two happened in the Bunny Room," the man stated, pointing to the second door as he passed it. "But the third happened in the nursery. Don't know how that devil got in. We keep tabs on that room from opening to closing. But… somehow…"

Sam and Dean shared a look with each other. Frankie noticed and felt a tiny jolt of hope. They were looking at each other. It was a miniscule stepping stone, but progress was progress.

The man approached a room at the end of the hall with an open door. He knocked on the door with a smile to the older woman inside. She wore a green turtleneck and had grey streaks in her black hair. She lifted her head and noticed with furrowed eyebrows the group of people in black suits.

"Hey, Bernice. FBI's here. Asking about the missing kids."

The woman perked up immediately and stood out of her seat. "Oh yes, of course! I'm Bernice Hampton. I own the daycare." She walked over to the trio and shook each of their hands. "Uh, come in. Please sit," she added, and gestured to two seats in front of her desk. Frankie stood at the wall behind them as Sam and Dean took the chairs. Bernice straightened up her desk, righting papers and placing pens in a holder. "Hope you don't mind the mess. I wasn't expecting federal help so soon."

"Why's that?" Sam asked, almost skeptically.

"Well, from what I've heard, it takes a village to get just one agent over here. Now three walk on in and, well, it's kinda jostling." The woman huffed as she linked her hands on her desk and leaned forward. "Not to be rude, but it took five months for the FBI to arrive when a string of murders happened up here in '94. By then the perp up and fled to Cuba." Sam and Dean nodded their heads, the only response they could muster. "But! You aren't here to talk about your lack of punctuality. How can I help you today?"

"Your employee told us you were on sight when two of the kidnappings took place," Dean stated. "What can you tell us about the days those went down?"

Bernice sighed. She took off her glasses and placed them in front of her. "They were just like any other day. Both of them. Came to work, checked on the children's supervisors, then came right back here to sort through the endless paperwork. You may not think it, but the city council makes sure this place is in prime condition. Of course… our reputation is crippled by these kidnappings. We've had parents withdraw their children left and right. It's a miracle we're still in business."

"Does anyone in the city council have children that use this daycare?" Sam questioned.

Bernice's face took a confused turn. "Yeah. One of them. A four year old in the Lion Room. Real nice boy."

"So when the kidnappings took place, you were here in this room?" Dean continued.

"Yes," the woman sighed. "Just sitting here while children were stolen under our watch. If I had known someone had come in when no one was looking I would've strung them up myself."

Dean snorted. "You must take this job seriously."

Bernice lifted an eyebrow at him. "These children are my life. Our course I take this job seriously."

"Do you have any cameras in the facility that might've caught some suspicious activity?"

"That was the first thing the local authorities checked," the woman answered as she clicked some things on her computer. She then turned the monitor around to show Sam and Dean. "This list shows the dates footage was recorded around the building. We have cameras in each room. Nothing happens without us knowing about it. But look here." She pointed to specific dates with her glasses. "Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday."

"What happened to Thursday?" Sam knowingly asked.

"No footage was recorded. Same happened with the other two."

"Was it erased?"

Bernice shook her head. "Footage can't be erased without an admin pin, which only I know. Neat little tidbit in the program. However, it doesn't take a pin to shut _off_ the cameras."

"So," Dean mused, "someone came into the building the day before, shut off all the cameras, left the building, came back the next day, and snatched up a kid. Didn't you think to check if the cameras were working after all this went down?"

"Well we do _now_. Every morning."

"Do you know of anyone that could access all the cameras?" Sam asked.

"Well, the cameras are activated from either my computer or the front desk's. Whoever did it had to know our company password to get on the computer. But it couldn't have been one of our employees. They've all been downtown and interrogated. Their houses were cased out, all their records sifted through, they're clean. As you can see, we're at a loss. Of course, we've buckled down on our security since then… but now it's happening outside the daycare. Poor Dalton."

"You knew him?"

"Oh yeah. He was a regular. His mother always had lots of business with her theater, so he visited at all times of the day, seven days a week. But once these kidnappings started, she refused to leave him here. She uses a babysitting service now."

"Really?" Sam said, interest lining his voice. "You wouldn't happen to know what service she uses would you?"

"'Fraid not. I don't delve into the personal lives of the parents. Just the kids."

Sam nodded and pondered over the information as Dean spoke again. "Do you know of anyone who would have any sort of feuds with the families of the missing children?"

Bernice sat back in her chair and linked her hands over her stomach. "The Hodsons have their enemies. They screw a lot of people. They practically run the entire homeowners association, so if they don't like you then, well… you're in a pickle. But the others are model citizens." Bernice thought over the victims' families, and after a thought or two her brows narrowed. "I had heard a rumor about Loren Harris."

"A rumor?" Dean echoed with a narrow of his own brows.

Bernice nodded. "I'm not really into that whole community theater thing _or_ its constant gossip, but I had heard from a few mouths that Loren was a shoo-in for president. And, boy, was she obsessed with that position. Spent days fighting for it. That theater is her baby. But right before the election, Suzanne Nickels bribed off a couple board members and beat her by two votes. So vice president she was. But she didn't have anyone who hated _her_. Like I said. Model citizen."

Sam hummed in passive affirmation with a thoughtful nod of his head. "Well, thank you, Bernice. You've been very helpful. Is there anything else you can tell us about these kidnappings? Maybe any suspicious characters around town?"

The woman shrugged. "That's as far as my knowledge goes, agent."

"Well thank you for your time," Dean said, standing from his chair and handing her a small card. "If you think of anything else or see something strange, give us a call."

"Will do. And thank you for giving a damn." Sam and Dean were taken aback by her slight vigor. "I wish you luck in finding the bastard that snatched my kids."

"Of course," Sam nodded. "Before we leave, would you mind if we took a look around? Just to case the place before we get out of your hair?"

"By all means."

Sam and Dean gave a final tight-lipped smile before motioning Frankie to follow them out of the room. They walked down the now booming hall, noisy with children's laughter and shouts. Playground time must have ended.

As well as bustling classrooms, the lobby had picked up some traction. The young man from before was stationed behind his desk as he worked with a few parents. While he dealt with them, a fair young woman approached the front door with a large box in her hands. She struggled to open the door, sweat dampening the strands of jet black hair on her forehead.

"Alright, well you two go case the joint, and _I_ am gunna go interrogate the townsfolk," Dean muttered before speeding up his pace to meet the girl in the lobby. Sam huffed at his brother, but forced himself to focus on the task. He motioned for Frankie to follow him into the Bunny Room.

Dean picked up a light jog and opened the door for the troubled girl. "Lemme help you there," he said with a charming smile. The girl gave him a grateful grin as she panted into the building.

"Whew! Thank you so much!" she breathed out as she dropped the box onto the floor. She stood underneath the AC and waved air into her face. "God, it's hot out there! I am _not_ built for this weather."

Dean glanced out the window. He didn't think it was that hot outside. Then again, it was summer in Montana. Nonetheless, he focused on charming the attractive girl before him. "Do you need any help with your things there?"

"Oh, would you? Thank you."

"No problem." Dean lifted the box from the floor and walked it over to the front desk.

"Oh, hi, Uki," the desk clerk greeted.

"Hi, Manny. I brought some more stuff for the kids."

"Oh, great! Just leave it there. I'll take care of it in a bit."

Dean leaned against the wall, molding his face into a dashing façade. "Uki. That's a name you don't hear every day."

The girl scanned her eyes over the sharp, gallant visage of the man in front of her and reciprocated his enamored smirk. "Well, I gotta say, that's not a face you see every day." Dean snorted, widening his grin. "What's a suit like you doing in a town like this?"

Dean lifted a brow as he revealed his badge from his pocket. The girl eyed the badge with surprise peeking from the corners of her eyes. "I'm here on federal business. Agent Dean Martin. I'm investigating the missing children around town."

The girl nodded with a somber expression. "Makes sense. It's terrible thing, what happened to those kids. Do you have any idea who's behind it?"

"Not yet. But the trail's not cold yet. We'll get to the bottom of this." The girl sighed at the misfortune of the children, bringing the conversation to a halt. Dean shook off the darkened mood to focus on charming the girl. He looked at the box on the counter. "So you brought some stuff for the kids. That's a nice thing to do."

"Yeah. Toys, books, just stuff I had lying around."

"Do you do this often? Happy over there seems to know you pretty well."

The girl nodded her head with a smile returning to her face. "I try to volunteer as much as possible. I love the kids, and it's such a rewarding hobby."

"So you come up here a lot? Well let me ask you, have you seen any strange things around here? Odd characters?"

The girl paused to think for a few seconds. "No, agent. Not really. This is a kind community, always looking out for each other. I can't imagine a single soul in this town that would do something like this."

Dean nodded with a hum. "How about flickering lights? Air going cold where it shouldn't? Maybe whispers when no one's around?"

The girl gave him a strange look, but he was used to it. Everyone had the same reaction to the question. "No. Not that I've noticed."

"How well do you know the kids here?"

"Oh, very well. I know many by name."

"Did you know Dalton Harris?"

"Yes, I do. Sweet boy. A shame what happened to him. In his own home? I wouldn't be surprised if he was scarred for life, the poor thing."

"What can you tell me about his mom?"

"Loren?" The girl pulled an apathetic face. "She's alright. I don't see her much. She spends so much time at that theater of hers. Dalton misses her a lot. If there is one good thing to come out of what nearly happened to him, it's that his mom is spending a lot more time with him." Uki lifted her brows with an indifferent harrumph. "If she had in the first place he might not've been in danger."

Dean furrowed his brows and confusedly gazed at the girl. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well it's no secret that all the kid's parents are, well… sorta neglectful? I mean, Loren with her theater, Mrs. Crawford with the homeless, Mr. Mcculloch at the school, the Hodsons, all sorta absent when it comes to caring for the kids. That's why they leave them here all day. It's horrible."

Dean nodded. Now they were getting somewhere. He lifted his eyes and saw Sam and Frankie entering from the hallway. He pushed off of the wall and took out another card. "Well, thank you so much, Uki. You've been a huge help. If you see or hear anything else," he flashed her one last charming smirk, "you give me a call, alright?" She returned the gesture.

"Will do, agent Martin," she purred with a wink. The girl wiped the sweat from her forehead and left the building as Sam and Frankie caught up to Dean.

"Made any progress?" Frankie quipped with a half smirk.

"You could say that," he answered with a sly grin. The three walked out of the daycare and crouched into the Impala. "So. Find anything in the classrooms?"

"We think so," Sam said. "There's a restroom that connects the nursery and the 'bunny room.'"

"We looked through it. There's a small window about a foot from the ceiling. We think that might've been an escape route for whatever took the kids," Frankie added.

"We _think_. The window's just small enough for an average sized adult, but with a kid in its arms? There're a couple factors and variables we need to consider."

Dean backed out of the parking lot and turned onto the road. "Did you have any luck with the," Frankie paused to clear her throat and put on a rascally smirk, "townsfolk." Dean flashed her a similar grin in the rearview mirror.

"As a matter of fact, I did. Apparently there's more than one connection between the families of the missing kids. That girl, Uki, spilled about how they're all neglectful parents."

"Neglectful?" Sam echoed.

"Uki?" Frankie muttered with a quirked brow.

"The gist is that the parents spend more time caring for the community than their own kids, so they leave 'em in the daycare all day."

"Okay. So this thing is targeting the children of busy parents that work for the town." Sam opened the folder of research in his lap and skimmed through it. "If that's the case, I think I have a good idea who's next."

"Who?" Frankie and Dean spoke in unison.

"That four year old of the city councilman. Bernice said he used the daycare, and his parents would be busy with the city and all. I'd say that's a strong possibility."

Dean nodded and tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. "I wouldn't be so sure." Dean turned his head over to Sam to give him a knowing look, but retracted it once his eyes landed on his brother. He instead gave that look to Frankie. "That kid's still in the daycare, alive and well. If he's such a hot target, why'd the thing go all the way to the Harris house to try and nab Dalton if there was a perfectly good four year old waiting to be snatched up?"

Frankie pursed her lips. "Maybe… the city councilman isn't a neglectful parent? Maybe they see their kid more often than, say, Loren does Dalton."

Sam nodded, considering her point. "Maybe there's more connection between the parents than we know."

"Well," Dean added, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, "guess we're about to find out."

Not long after his comment, Dean pulled to the side of a neighborhood road and parked in front of the Harris' house. They exited the car, making sure that they had all of their supplies prepared: badge, cards, knife, guns, salt, and Holy Water.

Frankie stood in front of the backdoor of the Impala and looked at herself in her reflection on the window. She straightened fraying hairs on top of her head and wiped away small spots under her eyes from her mascara.

"Alright, that's enough, Madonna," Dean jested. "Your audience has waited long enough."

Frankie playfully smacked Dean on the arm as he passed her with a snicker and turned to follow him up the walkway to the front door. She caught sight of Sam's observant stare. She buried her small smile, hiding her and Dean's passing bond from the brother who didn't share it.

They reached the door and rang the bell. It chimed throughout the house. No one answered the door. Dean looked over at the driveway where a car was stationed. Someone had to be home. He instead knocked on the door this time. "FBI. Mrs. Harris?" Still no answer.

Sam, Dean, and Frankie shared looks with each other. Sam reached into his pocket and took out a small lock picking kit as Dean turned and watched for any witnesses. Before Sam could grasp a single pick, the doorknob jiggled. He quickly shoved it back into his pocket as Dean pivoted around, standing straight and tall as if nothing unusual was about to happen.

The door quickly cracked opened enough to see the tired face of a middle aged woman. "Look, no offense to the government or anything, but I've already reported to every administrative official in the state. Have a nice day."

She hurriedly shut the door, but Dean's firm hand stopped it from closing. "How 'bout the country?" He held a solid gaze with the woman, never relenting, until she finally gave in and opened the door all the way.

The trio could see inside her house. It was a complete wreck. Dishes could be seen amassed in the sink, clothes were piled up in the living room, and children's toys scattered the hallway. The woman barely stood, looking as if she would collapse in exhaustion at any moment.

Feeling the reverberating stress from the woman, Sam stepped up and took control. "We're sorry to drop in unannounced, Mrs. Harris. We don't hope to take up too much of your time. We just need to ask you a few questions."

She shook her head. "I've already told the police everything I know about the incident. State troopers, too. I'm sure they have a report you can read up on-"

"We understand that. There're just a few things we need to be more thorough with. If you don't mind?"

The woman looked between Sam and Dean, not even glancing at the small, less intimidating girl behind them. With much reluctance coating her features, she beckoned them inside and led them to her living room.

"Sorry about the mess. I haven't had much time to focus on housework. I've been really drained these past few days."

"We understand," Sam pacified, sitting down on the couch next to Frankie.

"So what can I help you with today?"

"Why don't you walk us through that night?" Dean answered. "And don't be shy to include every detail. Even if it seems like it wouldn't be important."

The woman wore an irritated frown that tugged on her wrinkles. "I came home from the theater early that night. I was feeling sick, so I excused myself and brought my work home with me. Everything seemed fine when I walked up to the house. The sitter's car was still parked, the lights downstairs were on, everything seemed normal."

"So when did you realize something was wrong?" Sam asked.

"When I walked inside, I couldn't find the sitter. I thought she'd be somewhere downstairs. I specifically told her that everywhere upstairs was off limits except for Dalton's room, and the lights were off up there. So I walked upstairs, ready to tear her a new one, but…" She struggled to get the words, and when she couldn't force them, she tiredly huffed. She brought her hand up to her forehead. "I'm sorry."

Sam leaned forward, offering her his compassionate eyes and soothing voice. "It's okay. We know this is hard for you. We're not here to cause you to relive any bad memories. We're trying to prevent more children from being taken, and more mothers from feeling your pain."

Mrs. Harris lifted her eyes to the calming Sam's. She visibly relaxed and nodded her head, sniffing away her overwhelming emotions.

Frankie looked over at Sam as well. It had been so long since she heard his comforting, soothing voice. She had almost forgotten that it was a real thing and not something imagined. She had to admit that it was a welcomed surprise to hear that voice once again, even if it wasn't directed at her.

"Halfway up the stairs, I heard Dalton start crying. But he wasn't crying like he was hungry or tired. Something was-… I could _tell_ that something was wrong. I ran to his room and opened the door and… th-there they were. Someone was standing above his crib, reaching in and… before I could do anything they jumped out the window. I grabbed Dalton and ran out of the house. I've never called the police faster in my life."

Dean leaned forward as well, but his eyes held less comfort and more solemnity. "Did you see what the attacker looked like?"

One second. One second of hesitation was all it took for Dean to squint his eyes in suspicion and Sam to slightly narrow his eyebrows. "No. Just a black silhouette was all I saw." She averted her gaze from the two, but more so from Dean, who held his firm stare on her.

"What about the babysitter?" Sam asked on. "Did she happen to see anything? Where was she when this happened?"

Mrs. Harris rolled her eyes. "Out ' _taking the trash_.' She claims she was just trying to tidy up the place, but if I hadn't come home when I did, my missing child would be on her hands!" She closed her eyes and took a moment to calm herself. "She didn't see them escape out of the window either. She said she ran inside as soon as she heard Dalton scream. ' _Just missed him_.'"

"Ma'am, are you aware that withholding information from federal agents is a crime against the United States government?"

Sam, Frankie, and Mrs. Harris all snapped their heads to Dean. He stared sharply into the baffled eyes of the older woman, causing her to slightly squirm under the penetrating gaze.

"W-What? I'm telling you the truth."

"Oh, I'm not denying that." Dean leaned back on the couch ignoring the pressing gazes of his siblings next to him. "Are you certain you didn't see what the attacker looked like?"

Mrs. Harris blinked. Her voice gained a defensive edge. "Yes. I'm certain. It all happened so fast, I didn't see a thing."

"And we believe you!" Sam jumped in, calming the woman before she got too riled up. "We just want to be sure we have every possible detail. So if you saw anything at all, even if it seems silly or impossible, we implore you to share."

Sam's understanding, reasonable words seemed to calm the woman, and she sat back in her chair. Frankie watched her intently, wondering if Sam's caring attitude swayed her.

"I did see… I _thought_ I saw one thing."

Frankie's brows shot up. He was really good at what he did. Which shouldn't have been a surprise, yet it felt like one after months of his depressive, miserable sulking.

"That's great. Just tell us what you thought you saw."

The woman shifted uncomfortably in her chair, grasping the leather armrests. "I thought I saw… fangs."

Frankie felt Sam and Dean stiffen against her shoulders.

"Fangs?" Dean repeated. "Like… a dog's?"

"No. Like a vampire's."

Frankie felt them shift again.

"Like those vampire bats you see on Animal Planet. Long, skinny canines. Four of them. At least… that's what I thought I saw."

Sam and Dean nodded their heads, resolute contemplation written in their firm frowns and sturdy brows. They were given some great information, and Frankie was included in the appreciation.

When the room was met with silence, Frankie was tempted to speak up and ask her own questions. With some of the monsters in her list narrowed down to having vampire bat-like teeth, she just needed to ask a few more to make a better decision, but she didn't know how to navigate an FBI investigation. What if she used the wrong lingo or said something without the affirmed superiority of her brothers?

Before she had a proper chance to act on her temptation, Dalton came stumbling in through the hallway beckoning for his mother. He halted his padding feet at the sight of three strangers, his mouth clamping shut.

"Dalton, honey, go on up to your room. I'll be right there."

The child kept a firm eye on the new people in black suits, and backed away slowly. He hurriedly climbed upstairs to his room.

"He's been like that since the incident. Edgy. Quiet. Will barely talk to me. All he asks for is his juice or a certain crayon and that's it. Mostly he just points. Nothing else. We had to cancel his birthday party next week, he won't interact. Well… that and some of his guests are missing."

Frankie knew she should stay in her place, but Sam and Dean were getting great info from the older woman, and she knew that maybe she could get something out of the child as well. She didn't have to worry about being a convincing agent with a kid.

"Actually, Mrs. Harris, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to talk with Dalton." Frankie didn't see them, but she could feel the soft glowers resonating next to her.

The woman looked over to Frankie, a troubled look climbing onto her face. "I don't know, agent. It's been a tough few days for him. He really needs to rest."

"Has he talked to the police about anything?" Dean asked in a gently pressing voice.

"A few. No luck. I stopped letting them talk to him after the first couple. I didn't want to stress him out even more by letting strangers ask him questions left and right."

Frankie nodded, putting on his soft, understanding face like Sam's. "We understand, we do. But we believe Dalton may have seen something that might narrow down the suspects."

Mrs. Harris looked interested at her words. "You have suspects? Who?"

"I'm afraid we can't share that information," Dean jumped in, playing along with Frankie's plan. "But if Dalton were to help us with any details, we can come to you for further analysis."

Mrs. Harris was disappointed at not getting specific names of the suspects, but ultimately budged. She allowed Frankie to go upstairs and try to get something out of the child.

Frankie walked over to the staircase with a tingle of pride sizzling in her gut. She thought she handled that pretty well. As she rounded the railing and began climbing the stairs, she caught a glimpse of Dean's subtle encouraging nod. She nodded back. She was washed with small excitement as she climbed the steps, feeling like James Bond on a secret mission. A twitching smile threatened to give away her collected disguise.

Frankie reached the child's room and pressed softly on the door. It opened with a small whine from the hinges and revealed Dalton sitting in the floor in front of a small table and coloring on a sheet of paper.

Now this was more like it. Frankie had experience with children before. Of course, those were screaming, shirtless, frenetic, Alabamian demons from the ninth circle of Hell, but if she could handle them there was nothing challenging about a frightened little boy.

She rounded the tiny table and squatted down to meet at eye level. "Hi, Dalton," she greeted with a gentle voice. "My name's Frankie." He didn't acknowledge her. He hadn't even raised his eyes since she walked in. Frankie pressed her lips together as she sat down on the floor and crossed her legs. "What are you drawing there? Is that a turtle?" She smiled at the crude depiction of a green circle with little stubby ovals underneath it. "Is that your favorite animal? A turtle?"

Dalton remained mute. He continued to color in the turtle's shell with a brighter shade of green, the buffing noise the crayon made against the paper his only response. Frankie nodded her head despite not getting an answer. Her eyes flicked over to a small pile of blank papers and stray crayons. She smiled.

"Orangutans are my favorite animal," she idly spoke as she grabbed a sheet of paper and an orange crayon. "Do you know what an orangutan is? It's an ape-… which is kinda like a monkey, and it lives in the rainforest. When I was as tall as you, I watched The Jungle Book and my _favorite_ song was I Wanna Be Like You. I thought King Louie was the coolest, and since then I've thought orangutans were the coolest animals." Frankie glanced at the boy, recalling the information Dean got from the girl at the daycare.

"You know what's cool about orangutans?" she continued, drawing connecting orange circles on her paper. "They're one of the best mommies in the world. They take care of their babies for _eight years_. That's a very long time for animals. The mommy orangutan teaches the baby what to eat and how to make houses out of leaves. And because they spend so much time together, they become best friends. Sometimes when the baby is all grown up, it'll go back to its mommy and spend even more time with her."

Frankie lifted her eyes to Dalton. He had stopped coloring and stared at the table. Frankie began shading in her lines and circles. "I kinda feel sad when I think about orangutan mommies and babies, because they get to spend so much time together. When I was a kid, my mommy was away a lot. She worked all day. And sometimes she would be gone for some other reason I didn't know about." Frankie stopped coloring and stared at the table. "It made me very sad when she would leave. Someone was there to watch me while she was gone, but I didn't want a babysitter. I wanted my mom. I missed her so much…"

Frankie inhaled a cleansing breath, bringing herself back to her point. She continued to color. "But when I got a little older, I learned that my mommy may have been gone a lot, but she was doing it for me. She worked so that I could have a home to live in and food to eat and crayons to color with… and I learned… that even if she was doing stuff for herself, that didn't mean she didn't wanna spend time with me. Because my mom would do… anything… for me. She, uh… she loved me. No matter what."

Frankie's crayon had been squeezed by her fingers so much that when she opened her hand the sweat from her palm had heated the crayon. Orange stained her warm skin. She sighed as she placed the crayon down onto the table.

She glanced back up to Dalton. He was looking at her. The moment their eyes met, the boy shied away and rushed to pick up his crayon. Frankie cracked a weak smile at her progress.

"I know it's been very hard to talk about anything since…" Frankie rethought her strategy and placed her crossed arms onto the table. "It was pretty scary, wasn't it? When that stranger was in here?" Dalton lowered his head as if he was embarrassed. Frankie bit down on her cheek, cursing her misdirection. "It's okay to be scared. Grownups get scared, too. I get scared all the time." An idea appeared in her mind, and she gulped down a miniature lump in her throat.

She lifted her fingers to her hair and tucked the strands behind her ear, exposing her blemished earlobe. "See this?" After a few hesitant seconds, the boy looked up at her ear. "I was attacked by a very mean person. I was so scared. They bit me right here, and I've been scared to show my ear to people." Even though it was her intention to display her injury, Frankie felt rabid anxiety tear away at the back of her neck the longer the boy stared at her ear. She covered it with her hair. "It's hard for me to tell people what happened because I think that they won't believe me or understand. And I know you might be scared to tell people about what happened because you think they won't believe or understand you. But I promise you, Dalton, I will believe you."

The boy stared into Frankie's eyes, passing glints of uncertainty filing his pupils. He was hesitant to speak. His fingers clenched and unclenched several times before he reached for a new sheet of paper.

He rummaged around his scattered pile of crayons. He picked up a green one and began tracing lines on the paper, one by one. He made a jumbled circle with two smaller circles and a frown inside of it. He then tossed the green crayon to the side and dove for another color. He picked up a blue one, but threw it onto the floor. He picked up a purple one and did the same. Frankie realized that he was looking for a specific color, and this peaked her interest.

Finally, Dalton found the black crayon and returned to his drawing. He scratched the tip along the outline of the circle, making long strokes. When he finished with the black color, it seemed as if he was done with his drawing, but his head twisted back to the pile as if he forgot something. He grabbed the white crayon and made four small marks before handing the paper to Frankie.

She looked between the paper and Dalton, slowly taking it out of his hand. She stared down at the green stick figure with what looked like black hair and big eyes. She thought little of the sketch until she noticed the white lines connected to the stick figure's frown.

"Oh," she whispered as the meaning dawned on her. She lowered the paper and stared at the silent boy. "I-Is this who was in your room?" The boy nodded. Frankie gaped at the drawing in her hand. She was looking at the perpetrator, the thing that stole the missing kids. The monster. "Thank you, Dalton," she sighed in relief. "Thank you so much."

* * *

Sam, Dean, and Frankie sat in the booth of a diner, name forgotten and uncared for. Dean and Frankie sat in one seat and Sam sat across from them. Dean looked at the drawing that Dalton gave Frankie.

"So this is the guy."

Frankie nodded. "That's the guy."

"And you got the kid to actually tell you?"

"Well, he didn't speak. Just drew."

"And yet you got us vital information when the police couldn't." Dean's face bore a huge grin as he nudged her with his elbow. "See? You're a natural! And you thought you weren't ready."

Frankie rubbed her arm with a small chuckle. "Well I wouldn't call it vital information."

"I would. This kid clearly saw fangs just like his mom did. Means we're dealing with a monster, and monsters we can track."

"So, who is this monster? Where do we start looking?"

Dean smirked. "I thought you said we had suspects."

Frankie gave a sheepish grin. "Well, I just said that to get the chick to trust us. I really have no idea." After Frankie thought about it, however, she realized that she did have an idea. "Actually, was I the only one who got a weird feeling from the daycare owner?"

"Yeah, that was kinda weird. The whole camera thing? It didn't add up."

"She's the only one who can delete video footage, and yet there was _no_ footage _at all_ on those days? I mean, even if you saw that they didn't record in the morning, you'd still turn them back on. There should still be _some_ footage. What, did they just not turn them back on until the next day?"

"And she seemed pretty effected by this whole case. Like, _more_ than someone normally would. It doesn't sit right."

"Yeah, her whole story's got holes. I'm thinking she's a suspect. But if she's a monster, she's something that can shapeshift or at least looks human. God, if I could just pin this down…"

"Hey, it's only the first day. We still got some things to figure out. Let's just see what we've got to work with. This thing's taking young kids with neglectful parents."

"And those parents spend more time helping the community than caring for their own children."

"This thing's got fangs."

"And supposedly targets specific kids."

"Not a full moon, so it's not a werewolf."

"Only has four thin fangs, so it's not a vampire."

Dean tapped his fingers on top of the table in thought. "So, monster expert, any ideas?"

Frankie shook her head while staring at Dalton's drawing. "I've got a few ideas, but just don't have enough information. Is this thing snatching kids for kicks, is it eating them, is it sucking their blood, is it using their bones for some sort of ritual, I don't know! It's such a broad area, it could be anything. I'd have to see its lair or at least a body of some sort."

The waitress set their plates down onto the table with a questionable look on her face. The trio ignored her.

"Maybe we should scout around for caves or dwellings outside of town. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"You just leave the scouting to us," Sam spoke. He had been quiet since they walked into the diner and only now did he acknowledge the conversation. "Once we figure out what this is, Dean and I'll take care of it. For now, let's just focus on narrowing down with what we've got."

Frankie felt a heavy weight enter her chest. Just when she was feeling like a real hunter, reality reared its ugly head. She had forgotten for a small while that she was supposed to stay away from danger, that her only purpose on the case was to help her brothers figure out what was taking the kids.

She hid her disappointed sigh and smiled up at Sam. "Yeah. Sure thing."

"Hang on now," Dean spoke up with a raised hand. "Frankie's gunna come with us."

Sam's sigh was audible. He set his fork down onto the table. "Dean-"

"She not a walking encyclopedia, Sam. She's a hunter."

"We talked about this," Sam muttered quietly.

"No, you talked about this. I never said we were gunna bench her just because you think she can't make it as a hunter."

"The deal was I would put off leaving to help you with the case if you kept Frankie away from danger. Sending her off into the woods to chase who knows what is the exact opposite of what we agreed on."

Dean clenched his hands into fist and tightened his jaw, but just when it looked like he would snap, he deflated. "You're right." Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That was our agreement. I won't force Frankie to run into danger." He looked over to the girl sitting next to him. "So, Frankie. You wanna go chase after a monster?"

"What? Dean!"

"Hey, I'm not forcing her. I'm just asking." Dean huffed against his brother's irritation and burrowed his eyes into Frankie's. "He's right. I've been forcing too much on you. I haven't given you a chance to say outright what you wanna do. So, Franks, do you wanna go out, hunt this thing, and gank your first official monster, or do you wanna sit in the motel reading the same books over and over again while me and Sam do it for you?"

Frankie looked into Dean's eyes, mouth agape, as she tried to figure out a solution to the predicament he just placed in her lap. For once, Dean was giving her a chance to decide what was best for her, but was he really?

He may have said he was giving her a choice, but his authoritarian tone made it more than clear that he wanted her to choose to hunt the monster. It wasn't just the fact that he wanted her to choose it, either. He made it sound like he'd be disappointed in her if she chose otherwise, and she had yet to disappoint him. She didn't want to start now.

"U-um," she voiced, "I just want what the both of you want. I want the thing dead. Whether that's at the hands of me or you or Sam, what the hell does it matter, huh? It's gone, the other kids are safe, mission accomplished. Why's it gotta be this big thing for me to kill it?"

"This's your debut, Frankie. This's what you trained for. Don't you wanna put our lessons to use?"

"Dean, of course I do. I'm just saying that if it's just up to me to do it in then what's the point of either of you being here? Didn't you say you wanted all hands on deck? That you needed everybody to do their part?" Dean stared down the table. "Listen. If I'm in the situation, face to face with the bastard, I'll gank it. If Sam meets the thing he'll gank it. The same with you. Let's not put the possible deaths of three children on me, okay?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak against her suggestion, but Frankie stood up and excused herself to the restroom. He watched her walk off with pain embedded in his eyes.

"You see what you did?" Sam groused.

Dean whipped his head over to Sam, pained glance morphed into irritated scowl. "What I did? Who brought up her sitting on the sidelines in the first place? You know this's a big moment for her. Why'd you hafta go on and ruin it?" Dean sipped angrily from his beer.

"I'm not the one ruining her, Dean."

Dean darted his eyes into Sam's, forcing ire into them. "Ruining her? I'm shaping her into the best version of herself. What are you doing? Making her doubt herself every step of the goddamn way?"

"I'm _trying_ to save what little of our sister is left after your boot camp! Can't you see that she becoming less and less of the Frankie we met months ago?"

"And that's a bad thing?" Sam blinked through the sudden wave of anger. "She was a weak, pathetic little girl when we first met. Now she's stronger, smarter, and happier than she ever was before us."

"Happier? What gave you that idea? When she was hanging on by a thread in a hospital?"

Dean's fists clenched. He turned his head to the side and bit back against his rising fury. "We're not having this talk again. Let's just get this case done with."

Sam glared at Dean as he dug into his food. Sam swallowed hard as he glanced down to his own food and picked at it with a fork.

Frankie stood behind the bathroom door, watching as her brothers sizzled with anger. She felt hollow in her chest. Why did every conversation regarding her have to end up with them staring the other down with detestation lining their pupils?

She felt ill at the thought of being the cause of their withering relationship. It was obvious that she was. Anytime they interacted regarding the case or anything else, they were fine. Not great, but fine. But when she came into the picture, oh boy. She had never seen them disagree on something so aggressively. It made her think about their trio and how it would soon be a duo if they weren't careful.

* * *

Frankie and Dean woke with a start as loud knocks disrupted their sleep. After a quick glance at the morning sun filtering into the window, Frankie whimpered and slapped a pillow over her face. She heard Dean pad his bare feet across the carpeted floor and open the door to their room.

"What?" he grumbled. It was obviously Sam. She heard more walking. "Just let yourself in, I guess," Dean mumbled.

Frankie tugged the pillow off of her face and sat up to weakly smile at Sam. Dean stood at the foot of her bed, arms crossed, as he and Frankie thought the same thing. They didn't need to ask it, though, as Sam jumped right into a solemn discourse, aimed directly at his sister.

"You said you wanted a body?"

* * *

Sam, Dean, and Frankie arrived at the city morgue shortly after nine. Frankie was still feeling drowsy. She had trouble sleeping with the looming threat of losing one of her brothers and didn't slip into her slumber until well after midnight.

All dressed in their FBI attire, they entered the building and were immediately greeted by a face. Sam was the first to approach the man. He revealed his badge with experienced grace.

"Ah, hello, agents. How can I help you?"

"We were notified about the discovery of a child's body belonging to one of the missing."

"Oh," the man in the white coat hummed grimly. "Yes, I had heard you were in town for that. Come on back."

With a light motion of his head, the coroner led the trio to the back of the building. It was colder and Frankie had the urge to rub her arms, but she thought it un-FBI behavior.

The coroner approached the shelf things in which the bodies were stored (she wasn't sure what they were called) and pulled one out.

Sam, Dean, Frankie, and the coroner looked down at the body of the small child, skin grey and body thin. Its bones could be seen through the paper-like skin, and small surgical scars decorated its chest.

"Audra Mcculloch. Aged two years. Found by the river that flows through the local dog park. Labradoodle sniffed her out late last evening and police collected her later that night. I performed an autopsy earlier this morning."

Frankie heard him speaking, but she didn't listen to a word he said. All she could do was stare down at the lifeless body of a toddler. Her heart wrenched. Such a young child, stolen from safety and murdered only to be dumped by a riverbed. How could someone do this to a baby?

But it wasn't a someone. It was a monster. A cruel, vicious monster that she utterly despised. It wouldn't take another child, not while she was in town. And even though she knew she shouldn't, she needed to be the end of that fucking beast. She would see to it.

"What was the cause of death?" Dean asked.

The coroner made a huffing noise of uncertainty. "It's hard to say. But I've narrowed it down to a mix of extreme blood loss and a deep puncture wound to the head." The man brushed back the blond bangs of the cadaver to reveal a tiny hole in the skull, a perfect circle with tiny marks embedded into the skin surrounding it. Frankie blinked down at the wound, her brows deeply narrowing. "And when I say blood loss, I mean it. She didn't have a drop left in her. Like it was all vacuumed out."

"Any idea how it happened?" Sam asked.

"No clue. Maybe some sick bastard drained it out drop by drop. Even then, it would take days. She's been gone a couple, sure, but _all_ the blood?" A jingle from the front door of the building beckoned the coroner. "Excuse me, agents," he said before leaving the three alone.

For a small while, the three stood in silence, a tiny moment of mourning for the loss of such a young child to a monster. They had a miniscule hope that the kids were just missing. Now they knew the fate of the others and the risk to the rest.

"Dammit," Frankie whispered, gather the attention of her brothers. She was gazing down at the puncture wound, a recognizing glint in her eyes.

"What are you thinking, Frankie?" Dean asked her.

She slowly shook her head, eyes glued to the small hole on the body. "It all makes sense. The choice of children, the fangs, the hole in the head… I know the thing that did this."

Sam and Dean gaped at the girl. They shared a look of both excitement and relief as the monster had an identity, one they could track down and make pay for the murder of several kids.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

Frankie swallowed, lifting her head to her brothers. "A tammatuyuq."

Sam and Dean shook their heads, a baffled looked jumping onto their faces. "A what?" the both asked.

"Tammatuyuq. I-It's an Inuit blood-sucker that feeds solely on young children. What the hell it's doing in Montana is anyone's fucking guess."

"Okay, so we know what it is," Sam pushed forward, "what else? Where does it do its business?"

"And more importantly, how do we kill it?"

Frankie leaned against the other compartments. "It usually dwells in caves, cold places, but in modern day that can be any freezing room. A freezer, a basement, a _morgue_." She glanced bitterly around the frigid room and rubbed her arms. "It takes the form of a female human, appearing as normal as you or me until it feeds. Then it uses something to puncture the head, a needle or something, and then drinks blood from the hole."

"Great. So it feeds anywhere and looks like anybody."

Frankie nodded. "You can kill it pretty easily. Some sources say a stab to the heart. Others say silver."

"Then a stab to the heart with a silver blade should do it," Dean declared. "Now we just need to find the bitch."

"Guess we should be doing some snooping around," Sam suggested, crossing his arms. "I'll take the daycare. You guys can look into town and find any suspicious characters."

"Wait. Uh," Frankie spoke. "I'll go with you. Dean can case the town."

"What?" Sam and Dean spoke together.

"Why?" Dean asked.

"I gotta weird vibe from Bernice. I wanna check her out, see if anything's sketchy with her."

The real reason behind the change was to have some alone time with Sam. She wanted to work with him on improving the relationship between him and his brother like she did with Dean back at the motel. Lotta good that did… Things with Dean weren't going anywhere, so Sam it was.

"Well, alright, I guess. I'll hit the town, see if I can find anything."

"Why don't you start with that Uki chick," Frankie jested with a teasing smile.

"Don't tempt me, Franks. Besides, she might have some vital information we can use." The three made a move to the exit.

"Oh yeah, sure. _Vital_."

Dean chuckled along with Frankie as they walked out of the morgue, Sam trailing silently behind.


	30. Chapter 29 - Case pt 2

**A/N: Hey howdy hey, my dudes! I am back in much later time than I specified, but I have an excuse this time, so that's something. A close family member of mine was in the hospital for a short while. He's alright now, but he had us worried. Then right after that, I find out my mother is in risk of being seriously sick. Life's pretty crummy right now, but I'm just gonna keep being positive up in this piece. Thank y'all for being so very patient, and I hope you enjoy this - insanely long - chapter. Love y'all! You're awesome! And thank you for everyone supporting this with favorites, follows, and reviews galore. It's freakin' baller.**

* * *

"So tell me really. Why did you wanna come with me?"

Frankie twisted her body over to Sam, the shifting weight squeaking the polyester seats of the old Buick. Her nervy frown was invisible as she thought of a proper excuse.

"You heard me. I don't trust that Bernice. I'm thinking she had a hand in all this." She turned her nonchalant façade to the windshield, narrowing her eyes on the backside of the daycare building. She tried to focus on the small window connecting the bathroom to the outside world to avoid the impending gaucheness.

There was a small silence as they sat in the parked car, shadowed by concealing foliage, where there was an air of unease caused from a lack of spoken words, like an actor that had forgotten their lines on stage. Frankie tried to hide her swallow, but her throat made an obnoxious gurgle that called attention to her discomposure.

Sam shifted in his seat, echoing its twin's squeak. "Y'know, I'm not Dean. You don't have to watch what you say around me. I won't bite." Not even the jesting and inviting tone to his words could beckon her head to turn back to him. And then it was Sam's turn to swallow down the awkwardness like a dry pill. He sat back in his seat, idly scratching at his chin. It had grown slight stubble in the past few weeks. It brought to attention his exhaustion, something Frankie pained to notice.

She could see, plain and simple, how all the fighting was weighing on him. His hair was almost always disheveled (more than usual) and the bags under his eyes darkened with each passing day. Frankie didn't know how much longer she could look at them before she avoided him completely.

"If you say it's just for Bernice," he continued, grounding her mind back in the car, "I believe you. I just don't want you to think you can't be open with me."

Trying to ignore the bags and stubble, Frankie lifted her eyes to Sam's profile. He was making an attempt, and for that Frankie was faintly relieved. At least he was pushing for some even ground between them. They had a helluva lot of healing to do, and it needed to start somewhere.

"It's gunna take time, Sam, but I don't anticipate the discomfort between us lasting forever. I…" She forced her gaze into her lap. It shouldn't be so uncomfortable to speak with him. "I _want_ to be close with you."

' _But you make it so hard!'_ her mind shouted. She hushed it with a squeeze of her eyes.

"Like I am with Dean. I mean, when we first met, I thought you and I would be the ones joking and acting all sibling-like. I didn't even consider Dean treating me like anything more than John's illegitimate child. I mean, that all changed when…," she swallowed again, shooting her eyes into the windshield and clearing her throat. "But anyway, that's all in the past. So… that's my way of saying that I don't hate you, least of all for your mistakes. I am in _no_ position to make that judgment." With hesitant intuition, she turned her head over to her brother and met eyes with him. She didn't have to force the pleading glint into her gaze. "I don't want you to leave before we can mend our crippled relationship."

The moment the words left her lips, Sam dropped his head, hair bobbing, with a tired sigh. Frankie held back a piteous huff behind tightened lips. "Frankie, we talked about this. I don't have a choice."

"Yes you do!" the girl exclaimed, hiking up her legs into the seat and revolving her entire body to face him. "What good will separating do? We're stronger as a unit!"

"Stronger?" Sam somberly chuckled. "Dean and I can barely speak to each other anymore, let alone collaborate on something."

"What if you get ambushed and no one is around to help you? What then?"

The corner of Sam's mouth slightly twitched as his eyes dove for his lap. "I can take care of myself."

' _Your previous actions beg to differ.'_ Frankie bit her cheek to silence the cynical voice in her head, one that sounded too much like Dean.

"And what if you can't?" she spat, growing indignant.

"I can," he nodded. "I will."

"God, Sam. Why can't you just suck it up and stop running away from us?" Frankie thought it had been the same cynical voice in her head, but the irate mumblings were quite audible and she was too late to catch it. Sam whipped his head over to the grumbling girl, his brows hovering over stunned eyes.

"I'm not-!" he began a little too loud. He swallowed and tried again, softer. "I'm not running. We're getting nowhere with Lucifer. I'll find something on him. I'm helping."

"By running." Sam squinted, confused, into Frankie's eyes. "Butting heads with your brother and turning your back on your family instead of mending a struggling relationship is running. At least in my eyes."

Sam shook his head, face contorting into interchanging emotions. Exhaustion, sorrow, anger, disappointment, but it all came down to guilt in the end. "I can't fix it."

"Yes, you can!"

"We're too far gone, Frankie," he lightly snapped. "I've messed up too bad this time. We can't recover what we were. Betraying Dean and freeing Lucifer from the cage were bad enough, but… leaving Dean to look after and protect his younger sibling… alone." Frankie hesitantly watched the lump in Sam's throat bob along with a distraught gulp. His voice was carefully spoken through his constricting throat. "After all these years, I've actually become my father."

Frankie's breath stilled at the mention of John from her brother. After everything her mother told her, she never expected John to neglect his children. He loved his boys. That's what she was told. But it wasn't like the woman hadn't lied to her before. Did John really leave Dean to raise Sam by himself? She considered asking about it, but abandoned the thought before she lost what little progress she was gaining with her brother.

"It seems impossible, I know. But it's not too late. I mean it. You just have to listen to Dean." She fidgeted in her seat, rubbing her fingertips together, as Sam sent her an incited glance. "Hear me out. Just stop pushing your opinions for a few minutes and hear his case."

"You want me to consider allowing him to damage your sanity?"

"For God's sake, _stop_ thinking about my safety!" Sam jerked back and blinked at her outburst, transforming his incensed frown into a stunned stare. "Christ! We've already established that I will _never_ be safe again! I'm not the same person I was before my mom died and I'm _fine_ with that! I don't care about whether or not I'm safe or even if my sanity's intact. I'm not even sure how it's put together at this point… I just wanna do my part and die going out fighting next to my brothers. And I can't do that if you're gone."

The shouts of children entering the playground flittered into the wordless atmosphere of the car. Frankie lowered her eyes to her jeans, picking at a fraying thread and flicking it off her fingers once it slithered out of the garment. She caught the inside of her lip with her teeth as Sam sighed into the silence.

"We're better off apart. He wants me gone anyway."

"And what makes you think that?" Her voice still held a slight edge despite her cooling temper.

"He didn't stop me. He's just letting me leave. So, I will."

Frankie felt the urge to rub her face in exhaustion, but was too exasperated to lift her hand. This wasn't going the way she needed it to. Sam was so pessimistic about Dean and their arguing that he was seeing leaving them as a good thing instead of a necessity. If she didn't do something soon she would lose her chance. He was already vulnerable. She just needed to give him a window of opportunity to jump through. Even if that window didn't exist…

' _This is a horrible idea…,'_ her voice reminded her, but she refused to give into failure.

"Dean… Dean doesn't want you to leave. He _hates_ that you're leaving. He… didn't want me to tell you." Frankie averted her eyes. Hell, she averted her whole damn head from Sam. She waited, counting the loud beats of her heart, as Sam reacted to her lie. Which wasn't entirely a lie! Just… the last and more important part.

"He told you that?"

"Yeah," she lied. Frankie burned her eyes into a leaf with a hole in it from a hungry caterpillar to distract her from her screaming conscience. "Said that he hates the fighting and just wants to get back on even ground. He wants to negotiate my role in all this and come to a compromise. The sooner y'all make up the better."

Frankie licked her desperately dry lips as she waited impatiently for Sam's response.

"Dean said _that_?" he asked incredulously.

Frankie felt a nervous tug in her chest. Was the jig up? No. No, it wasn't. She just had to keep cool. "To my face. He said that he hasn't acted on it 'cause you're too stubborn to change your mind, but if you weren't so stubborn about it, y'all could put all this arguing behind you."

Frankie's mind was one huge lightbulb strobing red with urgency to stop. The screams of the children at play were sirens yelling at her to come to her senses.

"No. We couldn't. He's made it clear that he can't trust me. This won't change anything."

"You could try," Frankie snapped. The beating of her heart was too loud in her ears. "Make an attempt. If not for yourself, do it for me."

Frankie squeezed her eyes shut and took in deep breaths. If she didn't calm down soon, Sam would catch on and find out about her ruse. Luckily for her, the red glowing in her skull simmered to a small laser pointer scattering across the walls of her conscience and the children's screams returned to just being children's screams.

Though her heartbeat was still loud and annoying, Frankie was calm enough to look in Sam's general direction. Her eyes inched closer and closer to Sam's before they connected with her brother's hazel eyes, a contemplative look to them. Frankie felt unclean, unworthy to look him in the eye.

Sam finally swallowed, an ever so faint shake of his head waving his bangs. "I'll think about it. But I don't think it'll do any good."

A weight flew off of Frankie's chest. A relieved sigh blew off of her lips. Before she knew better, she was smiling back against Sam's own smile. She felt faker than her curled lips.

Sam's gaze turned back to the windshield as Frankie's moved southward. Why was she such a damn compulsive liar? If she kept up the rate of lies she would be no better than her mother.

"Wait, wait!" Sam exclaimed, pointing to something at the building. Frankie snapped her eyes up to the glass. "Look at that!"

Frankie narrowed her eyes on the daycare's bathroom window where a figure appeared. A gasp spilled out of her mouth. Could it be the tammatuyuq? Was it stealing another kid?!

The window opened and beyond the wall was Bernice, the daycare's owner. She held up her hand with what looked like some kind of tool – a screwdriver perhaps – and messed with the hinges of the window. She was… she was loosening them. The window jiggled with loose joints as the woman tested it by opening and closing it.

"She's testing the escape route. She has to be," Frankie breathed, hesitant to believe she was actually seeing the event take place.

Sam brought binoculars to his eyes and squinted into them. "That's exactly what she's doing." Sam huffed, lowering the binoculars. "That sneaky bitch."

Frankie side-eyed Sam with a faint amused smile that fell soon after its birth. In its place was a culpable pout hidden behind a blank stare. "Sneaky bitch indeed," she repeated, mostly to herself.

* * *

Dean walked along the sidewalk of the moderately busy shopping district. His tongue dragged across the front of his teeth to clean off the ketchup caught from his most recent bite of hot dog. He finished the rest in one last bite, his cheeks filling up like a greedy hamster's. He adjusted the small white bag in his hand, a faint smile brushing across his chewing jowls. She would love what he picked up.

Sure, he wasn't out there to eat and shop, but dammit, he needed a break from the case for a little while. Sam and Frankie were checking out the daycare, so maybe they would find something. He should care more about case, after all kids were dying, but Sam was making such a huge freakin' deal about Frankie and it was beginning to _really_ piss him off.

Sam didn't know Frankie like he did. He knew what made her laugh, what ticked her off, he even knew her favorite type of music. Well, okay, that he outright asked for and he only found that out the other day, but he still knew a helluva lot more about her than anyone else. If he thought she was ready then she was ready. There was no more to it.

And there was more to his frustration than just Sam pitching a hissy fit. He _was_ thinking about how Frankie felt with all the crap going on. He wasn't blind to how uncomfortable she was around Sam and it only made her more uneasy when Sam would make an effort to talk to her or be friendly. Couldn't he see that she felt uncomfortable around him? If anyone was forcing her into something it was Sam forcing her into a relationship that was broken the minute he voted to tag her along to Pontiac, Illinois.

Dean made a pit stop and leaned against the brick wall of an antique shop. His chest huffed a short sigh as he looked around the town. A man was walking his dog on the same sidewalk he was. He grimaced and tensed up when the joyous Labrador trotted in front of him. Two high school-aged girls giggled into a brand name clothing store across the street. Just across from him was a bakery, one in which two women of vastly differing ages were heatedly chatting to one another.

It hit him all at once when he realized that he knew those two women.

Mrs. Harris and Uki, the girl from the daycare, were in a quiet argument on the sidewalk, but he wasn't so much wondering why they were arguing, but more so questioning how they knew each other.

He narrowed his eyes on the women, squinting his eyes in a futile attempt to read their lips. Uki stormed off, however, before he could decipher a single word. His keen eyes followed her down the street. He noticed a detail that would've gone unseen if he hadn't been sorta checking her out. She had a small limp in her left leg, but he only got sight of it for a mere second before she hastily rounded a corner, gone from view.

Now alone, Dean made his move and walked across the road to meet up with the remaining woman. "Mrs. Harris," he called.

The disheveled woman breathed out a huff of either exhaustion or annoyance, but covered up whichever emotion with a faker-than-Botox smile. "Agent. How are you?"

Dean gave a vague groan under his words. "Oh, peachy." He met eyes with Loren, now seeing how riled up she was. "You okay?"

Mrs. Harris' groan was not so vague, and she went into a theatrical expression of her inner and outer torment. "The world wishes misery on me. You can't trust anyone these days."

Dean quirked an eyebrow, nodding his head to the truth of that statement. "I noticed you speaking to a young girl. Goes by the name Uki?"

Loren made a sour face. "Yes. How do you know her?"

"We spoke in passing. But I'm more interested in your relationship with her, if you don't mind."

The pestered look in the woman's eyes told him that she did, in fact, mind, but she complied with a figure of the FBI nonetheless. "She's- she _was_ my babysitter."

Now Dean's interests were peaked. His brows knitted together, his hunter intuitions sparking to life. " _The_ babysitter? The one in the house on the night of the attack?"

Mrs. Harris harrumphed in the direction of the hot-headed girl. "The very same. The whole situation has her feeling indignant. No one in town will hire her and I sure as heck won't let her back in my house. I can't say I don't agree with everyone's decision to turn their chins up at her. My child could've gone missing. Or worse… Have you heard about-?"

"Yes. I have."

Mrs. Harris' shoulders deflated, yet her voice kept its rough tone. "So she insists on pitching a fit in public. Making a whole show over her own mistake."

Dean deepened his furrowed brows. "Did she do something wrong that night?"

The woman jerked her entire body back, her mouth falling wide open with an incredulous look in her eyes in an entirely theatrical display. "You're joshing, right? She wasn't watching my child the one time he needed her! I mean, where the heck was she?!"

' _Where indeed,'_ Dean thought, contemplating the new information.

"Would you by any chance know her address?"

Mrs. Harris halfheartedly shrugged. "Some place on Caraway Avenue. I don't know her that well. No one does. That girl spends all her time volunteering at the daycare and occasionally babysits. She's not really seen doing much else. Keeps to herself mostly."

Dean nodded his head. Things were starting to grow more and more suspicious with that Uki chick, and at the very least she knew something the others didn't. She was there the night of the attack, so she either saw the monster escape or she was involved with much more than the trash.

"Thank you, Mrs. Harris."

* * *

Frankie shut the door to Sam's car and rested her arms on the roof of the Buick. "So tell me why we're making a rest stop while a monster roams the town free?"

Sam walked up to the door to his motel room, quirked brow aimed back at the girl. "Do you think we're just gunna march right into her office and shove a silver blade in her heart?"

Frankie lowered her head, timid smile painting her face pink. "Better than waiting for her to pluck one up for a late lunch," she mumbled. She followed after her brother as he took out the key to his motel room.

"Not if we get caught. If a camera tapes us murdering a civilian, we're done. We'll need a pin to delete any footage and the only one who knows that pin is, conveniently enough, Bernice." Frankie nodded her head as Sam unlocked his room.

"We could just destroy the cameras," Frankie shrugged. Sam let out a short chuckle with a shake of his head.

"Right, well, before we do anything, we need a plan."

Sam opened the door a walked inside. The moment he turned on the light to the room, Frankie let out a small gasp. Sprawled across the walls were dozens upon dozens of papers, photos, and rubber bands connecting them all. She approached the collection of papers and ran her fingers over newspapers clippings and printed out articles. She gaped at historical writings and ancient etchings. She recognized a few from her books.

"Wow!" she exclaimed, flicking her eyes all across the room. Sam turned back, finally noticing her astonishment with an amused smirk. "Looks like a damn criminal minds episode in here! What is all this?"

Sam gazed around at his work as she moved to the other side of the setup. "Research. Connections, sightings, local legends…"

Frankie brushed her fingers over a rubber band that connected Dalton's drawing to an old description of a Vetala. " _This_ is pretty cool! I was never taught how to do anything like this."

Sam sat down at a small table, hesitantly glancing at the girl. He quietly cleared his throat as he opened a thick and aged book. "I could show you how. If you're interested."

Frankie's fingers stopped their probing. She blinked as she processed Sam's offhand offer. He tried to play it off as nothing, but she could hear the near timid tone in his voice. He was making a move to fix their relationship.

Frankie didn't know how she felt about the offer. Of course she was glad that he was trying to mend the broken relationship, but he was supposed to be fixing the bond between him and _Dean_. The two of them would eventually be fine, but if he didn't do something about Dean then a real problem would arise.

She couldn't just say no to him. She wanted to be close with Sam, she really did, but he was leaving, and that made things pretty damn difficult.

She twisted a rubber band in her fingers as she dipped her head, staring down at her shoes. "That would be awesome. You can teach me when you get back to Bobby's." She couldn't help being petty. He wasn't making it easy to not be.

Sam stilled for a moment, taking in the peeved meaning behind her words, and then continued turning pages as if he noticed nothing. Frankie cocked her head and stepped over to stand behind him.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding out anything else about tammatuyuq. Unless you have anything else?" Sam glanced back at her with a questioning look.

Frankie bit her lip in thought, her brows furrowing as she raked her brain for more information that she could scrape up. "Hang on. Let me grab something real quick."

Frankie headed out of Sam's motel room to hers and Dean's next door. It was unlocked. While Frankie preferred the safety and peace of mind of a locked room, Dean couldn't have given less of a damn. She supposed after years of battling demons and monsters a thieving crackhead was the least of his worries.

She dove right into her bag and fished around for the right book before taking out her worn hardcover of North American folklore. She began her way back to Sam's room, flipping through chapter after chapter as she walked next door. Just as she reached the door, her eyes lingered on something interesting.

"Got something," she announced while walking over the threshold. Sam raised his head, brows lifted in curiosity. "Apparently tammatuyuq take a female form to gain trust of mothers. Enough to be left alone with them. Then when they're not around they swipe the kids."

Sam leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Trust is hard to come by these days. Moms already trust a daycare with their kids."

"A monster with an efficient business plan. Go figure," Frankie huffed, shutting the book with a soft thud. "I don't think it's much of a question anymore. This Bernice Hampton is a blood-sucking, child-murdering beast." She shook her head, lowering herself on the bed with a dour chuckle. "I'm gunna impale that bitch in the heart."

Sam chuckled as well at her determined attitude and closed his book, too. "You leave that part to me. We need you to make sure there're no witnesses or cameras."

Frankie's head jerked to attention, raising an alarmed scowl to Sam. "Woah, wait. Lookout?" she exclaimed. He looked back at Frankie, now wearing a humorless smile. "Sam, I know you've been back just a little while, but I'm a lot more capable up against an adversary. I _have_ killed demons before, y'know."

"I know that, Frankie, but…," Sam sighed, turning around in his chair to face the unsettled girl. "Please understand that I'm thinking about what's best for you."

And he was right. That was what was best for her. She found that she had to constantly remind herself that staying away from fighting was exactly what she was supposed to do. Castiel made it clear that danger was more dangerous to her than she once thought, but she made it that far with no repercussions. What was treading just a little further going to do?

"I think I'm of right mind to decide what's best for myself."

Sam's face contorted into a troubled expression. His voice was soft as if to not startle a wild animal, and he put on a sympathetic gaze. "What I saw in Alabama makes me think differently."

Frankie swallowed as her back straightened. Her chest flooded with static as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the reminder. Her fingers twitched, not knowing how to react, and Frankie buried them in crossed arms. She spoke evenly to hide the boiling pique within her.

"Sam. Please understand that every mention of my actions in Willadeene's basement hits me in a very similar manner as Dean's coarse comments about your affairs with that demon hit _you_."

Sam's face violently broke from his sympathetic gaze. His brows tugged together as both confusion and affront invaded his eyes. They twinkled with hurt in the dim ceiling fixture in the room. His mouth hung open, uncertain words suspended in the thickening air of the musty motel room.

Frankie didn't care if it was petty, but she hoped he felt terrible about his comment.

Before the situation could grow tenser, the door swung open – no knock preceding it – and Dean let himself into the room, completely unfazed by the strained atmosphere. His eyes landed on Frankie, a settled look forming in his eyes.

"Good. You're here. I've got news."

Frankie was quick to leave the conversation with Sam. His mouth had moved to speak, but was cut off by the girl standing and moving to their brother. "That makes both of us. Er- the three of us. What've you got?"

"Remember that chick, Uki?"

"Yes, I remember Uki," Frankie answered with a forced smirk.

"I talked to Mrs. Harris in town and she says she was the babysitter the night of the attack. That places her at both of the crime scenes. Sound suspicious?"

Frankie hummed with quirked brows as she turned and walked to the other side of the room. "It does."

"But we've already got our monster," Sam spoke, gathering Dean's questioning eyes. "Bernice."

"The daycare lady?" Dean pursed his lips in thought as he sat down on the mattress. "I mean, yeah, she's weird, but you really think she's a hundred percent the tammy-… thing?"

Sam shrugged. "The number's pretty high up there."

"I think that number's up there for Uki, too. Mrs. Harris said she only babysits and volunteers at the daycare, two places literally crawling with kids."

"She's not a full employee, so the police wouldn't have checked her out," Frankie offered.

"Exactly. And she's got black hair just like in Dalton's drawing."

Sam leaned back in his chair, chin held high despite positioned lower than his siblings. "Bernice also had black hair."

Dean gave a permitting nod and a short sigh. "Yeah, but why would she be in the Harris' house? Uki would be right there to snatch up the kid, but his mom came in and she jumped out the window into the backyard, the _very same place_ Mrs. Harris said the babysitter was at the time of the attack." Dean looked thoughtfully off to the side, raising a finger as a concept finally connected in his mind. "Now that I think about it, she did have a limp when I saw her in town."

"Well, that makes her a pretty good suspect. But Frankie and I saw Bernice loosen the hinges on the bathroom window at the daycare."

Dean waited for more. He narrowed his eyebrows when it didn't come. "And?"

"That's the suspected escape route of the tammatuyuq," Sam explained, speaking slowly to lead Dean into the meaning of the information.

"And she couldn't possibly have adjusted the hinges for any other reason?"

Sam sat straighter in his chair as his face hardened. "Uki couldn't have a limp for any other reason than _possibly_ jumping out a window?"

"Guys," Frankie intervened, "c'mon." It was a little too early for chaos control, and that worried her.

"I don't get it. I give you great info and you're just gunna mark it off as nothing?" Dean asked, voice gruff, but lacking intensity. He sounded more confused than insulted.

"No! I'm just telling you what Frankie and I saw," Sam spoke defensively. "There's more than one suspect here. We can't overlook a single detail. Not while kids are being killed."

Frankie watched her brothers closely. It was beginning to get to a point where she had to wait for the slightest interaction, the smallest sign, before they exploded into a heated argument. It wasn't her responsibility to end their fighting before it began, and yet here she was.

Her plan wasn't working, but maybe that was because she was terrible at manipulating people.

Well, she knew _that_ wasn't true.

She just wasn't trying hard enough. She needed to push harder, get more involved.

"He's right," she joined in. "For all we know, there could be a third suspect we don't know about. Not a single detail is insignificant."

"Alright then," Dean finally spoke, easing back on his growing irritancy. "So where do we go from here?"

Frankie jumped at the first chance to get further involved with the conversation. "I suppose we should visit this Uki and find out her story. Test her with silver." Dean looked back at her with a miniscule satisfied smile.

"We should do the same with Bernice before either of them act on their suspicions," Sam added. "It could be either of them. We need to be sure of both."

Dean's smile fell, but Frankie noticed that he gave an agreeing nod to Sam as well. That was good. Something they agreed on.

"Right. We better do it before one of 'em gets hungry again," Dean stated.

"In Bernice's case, that could be pretty soon," Frankie pointed out.

Dean nodded his head thoughtfully, eyes pointed to the floor. After a few moments of mulling it over, he linked his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. "Well if we're gunna reveal Bernice as a monster, we better make sure she's alone at the daycare. If she's there at all."

"Stakeout?" Sam asked.

"Stakeout," Dean nodded.

Frankie released a quiet sigh of relief. Six sentences spoken to each other without any hint of an argument. Maybe this whole thing was possible after all.

"The daycare closes at five," Sam continued, uncrossing his arms and resting his hands on his thighs. "Gives us, uh, two hours. I don't know about either of you, but I'm starving. Feeling up for a late lunch?"

"Now _that_ I can agree with," Dean noted, voice picking up a tone of enthusiasm. It brought out a smile in Frankie and, bizarrely enough, in Sam, too.

"Did you see any decent places in town?" he asked, harden features now softened.

Dean wore a caught face and half-shrugged. "A decent hot dog stand." With a jesting smirk stretching on his cheeks, he turned back towards Frankie. "You up for a frank, Franks?"

She could've groaned at that horrible pun, but she settled on a roll of her eyes and a quiet chuckle. "Truth be told, I could go for a burger."

"I'll look for a diner," Sam said before turning in his chair and opening up his laptop.

"A _good_ diner," Dean pressed. "Not one of those vegan-hippie joints you always try to rope me into."

"Why do you turn down anything branded as remotely healthy?" Sam sighed with a fairly noticeable smile.

"I'm here for a good time, Sam. Not a long time."

Frankie found herself wearing a decent-sized genuine smile. Were they actually conversing? As if nothing was wrong? As if they weren't about to throw down at the diner just last night?

She watched as Sam typed up nearby restaurants on his laptop, carrying on like it was any other day, but better. She looked over at Dean, sitting on the bed and staring at the wall that Frankie had previously been admiring. They weren't fighting. They had been in the same room for ten minutes and they hadn't screamed at each other or brought up Frankie's safety or anything like that. That was progress, and she could definitely work with that. There was so much she could do at the diner to turn their broken relationship around.

"I'm gunna go get my jacket," she announced before heading towards the door, already thinking of ways to go about her new plan.

"Just a minute." Frankie stopped before reaching the door and turned to face Dean. He stepped over to her, a hesitant look in his eye. Frankie's brows pulled together. "I, uh… I wanted to give you something. Since this thing with Bernice could get ugly, I thought, well… you'd be wanting this back." He reached into his jacket and grabbed something tucked into the back of his belt.

Frankie's heart plummeted, eyes going wide and breath stilling, as the faintly flickering light of the motel room reflected off of the machete in Dean's hands. Frankie's attempt at swallowing was halted by the engorging lump swelling in her throat.

Where the sight of the machete once brought her confidence and hope, now the sight brought a sickly, dark feeling within her. That thing represented her mother's lies, her trepidation, her insecurities about her mistake. The mistake Frankie had also made.

"It was stupid to take it in the first place. I mean, it's yours. But, y'know, that whole thing in Bama… it shouldn't change how you look at this thing. It's yours." Dean smiled down at her, but she didn't notice, her eyes never having left the damn blade. "Carry it with pride. Time to get back into it, Franks."

He extended his arms, hovering the machete in front of her chest. He waited for her to take it, but she feared touching the weapon. She hadn't thought about it since Alabama and she preferred it that way. The machete no longer meant a chance at a life with purpose. It meant a life of lies, manipulation, and fear. If anything, it was perfect for her now than it ever was before, but the thought of carrying something made in a fit of cowardice revolted her.

Dean made a curt noise from his throat, urging her to take it. She didn't want to touch it. She couldn't, but she had to. She didn't want to disappoint him. In his eyes, this was a kind gesture, but in her eyes, it was the worst possible interaction.

Shaky hands lifted to the machete. Her fingers trembled as they inched closer and finally touched the silver blade. It felt cold, not the usual chilly coolness of a badass weapon, but the icy darkness of a mistake made years ago.

She didn't react to Dean's hand patting her once on the shoulder. "Let's go gank a bitch."

"Dean."

He rolled his eyes at Sam's brusque voice cutting through the unbreathable air. "What?"

"I'm not gunna just sit here and watch this happen."

Frankie's lips quivered as she tried for words. Her voice was puny, but she pushed a few breathy words out of her tight throat. "Sam, it's fine."

"No, it's not. Look, I get that you don't agree with my opinion but you should at least consider it."

Frankie gently set the machete down on the nightstand when Dean wasn't looking. She may have been a little out of it when she touched her mother's old weapon, but she wasn't deaf to the angered tone of Sam's words.

Just like that, chaos control needed to be brought back out. She should've known their placid attitudes wouldn't last.

"Well… have you considered Dean's opinion?"

Dean perked up, and he pulled a matter-of-factly expression. "Yeah."

Sam narrowed his eyes on Frankie, a pondering look in his eyes. He was no doubt wondering why she would ever ask him to consider his point, but it only took a single raised eyebrow from the girl to remind him of their conversation in the Buick. His lips parted as understanding filled his features, and he pulled back on some of the resentment that presented itself from Dean's gesture.

"Yes, I have. And…," he glanced reasonably over to Dean, sigh resting beyond his lips, "if you're willing to negotiate this, so am I."

"What's there to negotiate? Frankie's ready to complete her training. There's nothing more to it."

Sam's confused face resurfaced, this time pointed at his brother. "But… she said you-"

"Dean!" Frankie cut in before he could reveal her lie. "I think what Sam is trying to say is that he wants to make even ground here. Y'know, listen to each other's points and negotiate terms civilly and all that. _I_ think that's a great idea."

Dean stared at Frankie, and for a moment it looked like he would comply with her suggestion, but he crossed his arms and morphed his face into a stony gaze. "We've heard each other's points. We both want the opposite thing. So how the hell are we supposed to make 'even ground' here?"

Oh, great. Now the time came for Frankie to pull a solution right out of her ass.

"Well, uh… well you want me to kill the thing, right? And _you_ want me safe. So, uh… maybe we can form some sort of system where, um, y'all weaken the thing to the point where it's not dangerous, right? And then I come in, my mache- uh… silver blade drawn, and _kill_ that monster! Yeah? W-Whuduya think?"

There was a single second where it seemed like they would approach the situation amicably, but that moment died along with her hope as her brothers broke into loud, overlapping arguments on why her idea sucked.

"It's too risky!"

"We'll be doing all the work!"

"You could be seriously hurt!"

"You won't learn anything!"

"A terrible plan!"

"What would be the point?"

"I won't let you!"

"Oh, and what're you gunna do? Lock her in the bathroom? Tie her to a chair?"

Sam whipped his head over to Dean with an affronted glare. "Wha- no! What about you? What're you gunna do if this thing hurts her? Or worse?! Are you seriously gunna risk her ending back up in a hospital?"

"Sam, that's enough!" Frankie shouted. Control was quickly slipping through her fingers.

"If we have her back she won't be in danger!"

"Dean, don't!" Control now seemed like a pipe dream, never possible to begin with.

"Won't be in-? She's _always_ in danger, Dean! Whether or not you have her back doesn't matter! You should know the cost of one small mistake!"

"You're saying she's gunna make a mistake? You have _that_ little faith in her training?"

"She's _your_ student!"

Frankie's brows shot for her hairline, her jaw dropping at the insult that offended even her. "Sam!"

"What the hell's that supposed to mean? I'm not a good teacher?"

"After what I saw in Alabama-"

" _Enough_ about Alabama! Okay?! I'm sick of hearing about it!"

Sam's eyes darkened. He set his jaw as he stood up from his chair. "And I'm sick of hearing about Ruby. And Lucifer. And every damn thing you pin against me!"

"Well, Sam, unlike you, she doesn't deserve the reminder."

"Dean, shut up!" Frankie growled, stepping over to the quarreling pair.

" _How_ do I deserve it?! I've told you I'm sorry!"

"You've said that before." Dean's voice harbored the quietest, faintest crack. The hurt in his words amplified as his eyes twinkled with betrayal. " _Many_ times. Gotta say, Sam, it gets old after a while."

The stunned silence from Sam gave Frankie an open door that she promptly thrusted herself through. She slithered in between Sam and Dean and placed a hand on each of their chests, shoving them away from each other.

" _Alright_! If you two are _done_ clawing at each other's throats," she paused to catch her breath and softened it, "now we can use this opportunity to _calm_ the hell _down_ and work on dealing with this using an act of civility."

"Forget it, Frankie. There's no dealing with this." She blinked up at Sam. He hadn't torn his eyes away from his brother and Dean the same. "It's clear what's going on here."

Frankie's eyes fluttered shut. "Then please enlighten me," she huffed.

"Dean can't stand his disappointment of a brother anymore, so instead of being reasonable he's trying to turn you into a better version of me. By throwing his sister into the fangs of a _monster_."

She opened her eyes only to glare at the audacity of the suggestion. Before she could argue against his theory, Dean spoke again, voice toughened but not lacking the hurt in it.

"That's what you think? That I'm just so tired of you that I'm replacing you with Frankie?"

"Isn't that _exactly_ what you're doing?"

"No! He's not!" Frankie snapped, pushing them farther apart. "Y'all just back down before one'a y'all gets hurt!"

"So what if I am?"

"What?" Sam and Frankie said together, both confusedly staring at their brother.

Dean's face was cool and collected, but his eyes held all the wrath in his body. He crossed his arms and lifted his chin. "What if I'm replacing you with Frankie?"

"Dean!" Frankie yelled incredulously. How the hell could he say something like that?!

"She shows promise as a hunter. She'd be useful as a partner. Through all this crap she's still been tough. Even with all the insults you give her."

"I don't insult her!" Sam stepped forward, but Frankie pushed him back with a groan.

"I dunno. Suggesting that she can't handle her own after killing demons and saving our asses sounds a lot like a middle finger to the face to me."

"That was a while ago. Things've changed! You know they have!"

"Oh sure, _I_ do. But why don't you explain that to Frankie, there." Dean waved a hand down to the girl still pressing against Sam's chest. "Tell her how you think she's completely incapable of _ever_ becoming a hunter."

Frankie's arm stilled, her eyes going blank. Wait… he thought…

"What?"

Dean continued on as if she wasn't clearly affected by his point. "Explain to her how you think she should stay at home with Bobby 'cause she's not mentally stable to keep in the field, that she's gone ' _crazy_.'"

Frankie lingered on the supposed opinions of Sam before darting her eyes up at him. He wore a venomous glower pointed directly at Dean, but it fell to shamefaced when it pointed down to her.

"Yes, I said that, but I didn't mean it in a bad way."

"Is there a good way to say it?" Dean asked.

Sam's glare snapped back up to his brother, his voice getting louder as his emotions began to take over. "When regarding her safety, yes!"

"For Christ's sake, Sam! _Stop_ pretending like you care about her safety!" Frankie was taken aback by Dean's outburst. She was caught off guard when he stepped forward and was pushed right out from in between them. "You said she's always in danger, so what's the point of putting on this whole damn show of ' _protecting_ ' her?!"

"Can I _not_ try and keep the only sister I have alive?!"

"You wanna keep her alive? Teach her to protect herself! We can't always be there for her! Least of all of you!"

Sam's voice darkened along with his eyes. "I am _not_ some _deadbeat_."

"I'm sorry, didn't you say you were leaving after this case?"

"We can't focus on common monsters while angels and demons terrorize the world!"

"And you're gunna stop them? All by yourself?"

"I'll get help from other hunters. But I can't stay here any longer than I have to. Not while Frankie stands beside you."

Sam's words triggered Dean in a manner Frankie didn't expect. He took the last few steps up to Sam, shoving his deep glower in his face. "Don't make this her fault. Don't you dare. This is your fault. You're too stubborn to see that this whole strict parent crap you got goin' on is worse than even _Dad's_ parenting."

Frankie's throat involuntarily squeaked as it tried to speak, but the words they tried to say came too late. "Dean, please stop this," she weakly uttered.

"All you've done this week is bitch and moan over Frankie and that goddamn spell and I've heard _more_ than enough! So either you shut the hell up about it, or take it somewhere else."

Frankie nearly gasped, but her breath was hiding deep in her chest. He did _not_ just tell Sam to leave. He couldn't have.

"Get _out_ of my face," Sam snarled.

"There you go again with the bitching."

"Get out of my face, Dean."

"Yeah, or what?"

Sam shoved Dean back. Dean's surprise at the push made him stumble backwards. A stunned gaze overlaid his disbelieving eyes as he regained his footing. All air seemed to be sucked out of the room as the three processed the action.

Frankie gawked at her brother, an incredulous gasp spurting from her lips. "Sam!" she yelled.

Not wasting a moment, Dean came back with his own hard push, causing Sam to hit the chair behind him. It toppled back with a noisy clunk.

"Dean, stop!" she screamed, grabbing her brother's shoulder. Her hand was torn away when he charged again at Sam.

Things were well past any control, even between them. Those two first shoves were all the invitation they needed before going at it like two UFC fighters. Sam pushed Dean. Dean rammed his shoulder against Sam. The moment the first punch was thrown, Frankie knew she had to put a stop to it before they seriously hurt themselves.

"Y'all, this is stupid! Quit it!" She grasped onto the back of Sam's shirt, yanking him away from Dean, but he didn't budge. "This is bullshit!" she screeched in his ear. She tried to squeeze between them again, but they were waltzing around the room like ballroom dancers. She couldn't get in a good position.

Dean grunted as he threw Sam into the wall, knocking down many of his papers and photos. Sam retaliated with a growl as he punched Dean in the jaw. His head snapped to the side, but he didn't budge. Dean grasped at Sam's shirt and slung him around the room. Sam kept his feet anchored to the carpet and grabbed Dean's shoulders. He pushed him into the window of the motel.

Dean growled as he hit the glass. Frankie watched without breath as he hoisted himself up from the ground. There was a crack in the window, but the only real damage was the fallen curtains. The tumbled didn't slow him down for a second, as he charged at Sam with a running start.

Frankie's own primal anger flared as she watched her brawling brothers. She felt a fire furnace in her chest as spit and blood splashed around the room, sprinkling her as they pounded each other's flesh. Her heartbeat was up to dubstep levels as she spectated their quarreling. A snarled ripped through her throat as Dean sucker punched Sam in his nose.

She could no longer stand on the side and avoid their mindless clashing. She marched over to Dean, red coloring the edge of her vision. She thrusted a hand onto his chest and shoulder and pushed against him with all her might, eyes squeezed shut and snarl scratching her throat.

"Dean, stop it!" she yelled. In the heat of the moment, she was only slightly aware of Dean's own hand thrusted onto her chest.

"Frankie, _move_!" he screamed, shoving hard against her with one hand.

His strength surpassed hers, and she found herself stumbling backwards. In a flash moment, her entire left side – foot and shoulder – hit a solid object, one that could only be another human being. Her footing was gone, and she saw the world going topsy-turvy before drawers and handles filled her entire vision.

Her face instantly scorched at the collision. Her nose exploded with piercing stings. Her lip was numb, save for a slick warmness. Her jaw tingled with searing pain, the stitches on them no doubt opened.

She was on the floor before she knew she hit the ground. The wretched stench of the unclean carpet alerted her of that fact before any other part of her body was aware.

"Frankie!" a voice above her gasped. She assumed it was one of her brothers, her damned brothers. She experimentally moved her arms and found them lacking intense pain. She propped herself up on her elbows as phantom hands – most likely belonging to a brother – grasped her shoulders. She slapped them away with a quick wave of her arm. If they didn't want her help, she didn't want theirs.

She let out a guttural groan as her nose throbbed. She tried her damnedest to ignore it as she set herself in a sitting position. Her head lifted and she winced at the stabbing headache she was met with.

"Oh, god, Frankie…," the same voice spoke. Sam. She opened her eyes to see both Sam and Dean crouched in front of her, angered glares replaced with concerned stares.

Frankie wondered if her face looked bad. She brought a hand up to her nose. Wet. She slid her fingers carefully over her lips. Wet. Down to her jaw. Not wet, but hurting like hell. She retracted her hand and gazed down at the crimson-coated fingers.

"Frankie-," Dean gasped. She blinked up to his worry-filled eyes. "Frankie, I'm- god, I'm so sorry, I-"

"Get the bandages," Sam ordered, grabbing a hand towel from the very dresser she fell into. Dean hadn't moved, still staring at her bleeding face. Sam glared back at him. "Dean!" The man finally came to his senses and – after a lingering stare on her oozing lip – ran off to Sam's bag.

"This's all my fault," Sam whispered as he dabbed the towel over her face. She hissed in pain. He shushed her and pressed on her lips again. She moved her head away from his probing, and he reached for her cheek to pull her back. "Frankie, stop. Please." At the sound of his soothing voice, she disgruntledly allowed the pain.

Dean quickly reappeared next to Sam and threw him the bandages. "Frankie, I didn't mean-… I-I-I swear I just-"

"This _has_ to _stop_." Sam and Dean slightly jumped at her outburst. Her eyes were dark and penetrating, her voice nasally and infuriated. "Y'all think you're tired of all the fighting? I'm _sick of it_. This is _stupid_. I am _not_ worth all the shouting and shoving." They looked like they would protest, but they were quickly hushed by her incensed tone. "If I have to listen to y'all scream at each other for one more second I swear I'll slice my throat with that machete."

"Frankie," Dean weakly scolded.

She snatched the towel and bandages from Sam's hands. "Y'all figure out your deal with each other, or you'll lose more than the respect from your sister."

She shakily stood to her feet, faintly moaning at the headache clobbering in her skull, and marched out the door, slamming it behind her without another word.

* * *

An hour passed and Frankie was still pissed. She was pissed at her brothers and pissed at their emotional disabilities. She was pissed that their fighting got physical and pissed that it was all over her. But most of all, she was pissed at herself for allowing it to happen.

She just stood there and let them scream at each other. She should have made a better effort. She should have forced herself between them and yelled louder, more forceful than their petty shouts. She should have gotten their attention, should have said anything to get that attention. Even… even tell them about her sold soul.

It seemed like an idiotic idea, but it would have taken their anger at each other and pointed it directly at her. It would have showed them she wasn't worth fighting over, that she's scum. A horrible excuse for a sister. That was how she could fix their relationship, by ruining the ones she had with them.

The only way to become the glue was to become the poison.

She was glaring into the pages of a random book when there was a knock at the door. She rolled her eyes and ignored it, lying deeper on the mattress, scowling daggers into the pages in her lap.

"Can I come in?" Sam's muffled voice asked. Frankie shut her eyes, praying to the ever elusive God for him to just go away. She did not want to talk to him. But he didn't go away, and instead opened the door and stepped inside.

Frankie flicked her glaring eyes up at him, trying to telepathically transfer her fury into his body. "I didn't say you could come in."

Sam pressed his lips together in a poor apologetic smile. He closed the door and stepped further into the room, stopping at the foot of her bed. Frankie pulled her knees closer to herself.

Sam made a few unsuccessful attempts to speak. Frankie simply sat on her bed 'reading' her book and waiting for him to do anything, preferably to leave.

"Frankie…," he sighed. And then he went right back to failing at speaking. Frankie would have snapped at him to hurry up, but she was too invested in her not-reading to even open her mouth. "I'm… so sor-"

"Don't you dare say sorry." Her voice was brimming with infuriation. A quick glare up to her brother revealed his eyes pointed to the floor. "I don't wanna hear it."

He swallowed and nodded his head, keeping his eyes low. He shuffled uneasily while shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "What do you wanna hear?" he asked quietly.

"Honestly?" Frankie half-chuckled, slowly shutting her book. "Yesterday I would wanna hear you admit you're wrong and Dean admit he's wrong and the two of you would stop fighting for something you can't save." She clenched her teeth together as she sat up, piercing honey eyes stabbing the man standing at the foot of her bed. "How do you think this looks from my end? Hm? My two brothers fighting over what they think's best for me? Did either of you stop and question what _I_ thought was best for me?" She mockingly smiled and faked ignorance. "But wait. I'm too mentally unstable and crazy to decide things for myself."

"Frankie… I'm just trying to-"

"Protect me. Yeah, I got the spiel. I think we're well past the point of protection, Sam." She pointed to the bandages on her nose. He quickly averted his eyes and cleared his throat. Frankie lingered her glower until she, disgruntledly, took pity on him. Goddamn her kind nature. "Look, I'm not stupid," she sighed. "I know how all this works, but if you want your mess cleaned up you're gunna hafta let up on the leash. Why are you pushing my safety so much? You weren't this strict when we first met. I remember you being the lenient one."

Sam deeply inhaled, his shoulders shrugging and quickly drooping once he exhaled. "I haven't really been a brother to you lately and… I'm doing a terrible job at everything else."

Frankie set the book next to her feet on the top of the bed. "If you wanna be a good brother, just trust me. I may not make great decisions, but when push comes to _literal_ shove, I do what I think is right. No matter how questionable. We share that trait." Sam's weak smile came and went. "Don't micromanage my life or soon I won't have one at all."

Sam finally found the courage to meet her eyes, and she showed him mercy. No glare was present in them, and instead there was sadness. Despite the anger and bitterness, she was more upset that things went too far. How much farther could they go? She may just find out if she stayed there any longer.

That thought lingered in the front of her mind. _She may just find out if she stayed there any longer_. She certainly didn't want to find out.

Mulling over the thought was ceased by a chiming ring of Sam's cellphone. He apologetically sighed and took out the ringing device. It was his work phone. He cleared his throat and forced professionalism in his voice.

"Agent Davis." Frankie narrowed her brows as his own raised and pointed her way. "Ah, yes. How are you?" And then his brows furrowed, deeper than her own. He must have heard something suspicious, or… questionable? The muscles in his cheeks tightened as he nodded his head. "Okay… yes… okay. We'll be over shortly."

He removed the phone and ended the call. The resolute look on his face remained as he stared down at the screen in his hand.

Frankie tired of the suspense and leaned forward. "Who was that?"

Sam shut his phone and turned his head over to her. "Bernice Hampton. Says she has information useful to the case. Wants to meet at the daycare."

Frankie set her jaw as she stretched out her legs. "That sounds suspicious."

"Yeah, you're telling me. Let's get over there."

He didn't need to tell her twice. Mad or not, people come first. Or so Dean said.

Speaking of that brother, she noticed the Impala gone once they walked outside. "Where's Dean?"

"He went to interrogate that girl. We can take care of Bernice ourselves."

Frankie's petty side resurfaced, as she opened the passenger door. She quirked an eyebrow to Sam on the other side of the car. "You're not worried I'll go crazy again?"

He stilled, hand on the door handle, and avoided her pressing gaze. He wet his dry lips with a resigned sigh. "I trust… you'll be focused. And you'll be safe." He ducked into the Buick before he could see Frankie lift her other brow in an almost satisfied glance.

* * *

Dean parked in front of Uki's house. He turned off the engine, checked his weapons, reeled through all evidence he had against her, and then…

Nothing. He sat, hand on the door's handle, ready to interrogate a huge suspect, but he simply froze. His focus was shot. All he could think about was the look on Frankie's bloody face, the betrayed, disappointed look that she pointed right at him.

' _Y'all figure out your deal with each other, or you'll lose more than the respect from your sister.'_

He sighed, bringing a hand to rub his face, as he thought about her words. He went on and on about how she didn't disappoint him. He didn't think it would be so easy to disappoint her. And yet here he was, sulking in his car, while she sat in their motel room and thought about how terrible of a brother he was. And it was true, he was a terrible brother. He was a better teacher than he was a sibling. But she didn't need a teacher. She needed him to be a brother.

He looked through the window at Uki's house. He took in a deep breath, reminding himself that there was a case to solve. He'd sulk when they were done. At least then Sam wouldn't be there to make things more difficult.

That thought made him feel even worse.

He finally exited the car and tugged on the ends of his jacket. He patted his pockets to make sure he had his badge, gun, and knife and then walked up the driveway. As he approached the house, he gazed up to the lavender sky. He hoped it would bring him a little peace, just a little to get him through the investigation, but it just reminded him of Frankie.

The memory of standing next to Frankie when she lost her house in Alabama and comforting her under the late afternoon sky used to bring him a little peace of mind. That was where he told her that they were her home, him and Sam. Now look what her home did. They shoved her into a goddamn dresser and broke her face.

He cleared his throat, the rough sound grounding him to the porch. He huffed out a final breath before knocking on the door a little too loud. He straightened his back and slid his hands into his pockets, awaiting the girl he wasn't even sure was home.

The door opened to reveal the young woman. A wide grin stretched across her pink cheeks. "Agent Martin! It's a pleasure," she purred.

"Uki," he greeted with much less charm that he used at the daycare.

"What brings you here?"

"If you've got the time I'd like to ask you a few questions regarding the missing children."

The girl lifted her eyebrows and pursed her lips. "I thought I satisfied your interests back at the daycare. Perhaps I could then…," she extended a hand and rested it suggestively on his arm, "satisfy you in some other way."

Dean ignored her offer and her hand. "Maybe some other time. For now, just the questions will do."

Uki pouted and retracted her hand. She stepped to the side and opened the door wide to let him inside. Dean walked in, gazing around for any immediate clues that would tip her off as a monster.

It just looked like a normal suburban house. There was a cozy living room, an adjacent kitchen, and a bookshelf filled with photos of friends and family. He walked over to the pictures and gave a polite smile to them, but that smile turned downward in the blink of an eye when he spotted a familiar face.

In several photos, Uki posed with Bernice Hampton. It shouldn't be so shady – she did volunteer at her business – but the fact that both suspects were so close together made things all the more suspicious.

"How well do you know Miss Ham-"

Dean's words were abruptly cut short when a hard object crashed against his head. He blacked out before he hit the floor.

* * *

They pulled up to the empty daycare at half past four. Sam looked around puzzled. It wasn't supposed to close for another half hour. That made things very suspicious, more than getting a phone call from the suspected monster only two hours after coming to the conclusion that she was the killer.

"Okay. Looks deserted. I'll lead. Stay close behind me. If she comes at you-" Sam's mouth froze midsentence once he looked at the girl in the passenger seat. Frankie creased her brows and confusedly shook her head at his hesitance. His breath stuck to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter until he gave out a longsuffering sigh. He shook his head, mumbling something incoherent under his breath. "Just remember what Dean taught you."

Frankie's eyebrows were already raised in surprise at his allowance and acknowledgment of her training, but her face could've gone numb with the stress of stretching brows when he revealed her machete and handed it to her.

She half-glared at the blade. The only thing holding her back from a full-on scowl was Sam's silent blessing to hunt with him. She met his eyes and saw the discomfort in them. He was still completely against the idea of her going up against the monster, but he finally came to his senses and realized that she was better off fighting with him than alone.

She pulled a smile she felt was genuine. Sam's mouth twitched. That was all the smile she'd gain from him. She took the machete from his hands and stared down at the blade, adjusting it to catch her reflection.

She saw a vast array of colors coating her face. Blue, red, pink, white, it made her ill. She turned her body to the door and walked out as Sam did, trying to forget the fleeting image of her battered face.

They reached the daycare and found the front door open. It was dark inside, not a human in sight. Sam lifted his pistol, armed with silver bullets, and scoured the area with the barrel. Frankie trailed behind him with her machete outstretched, firmly clutched in her twitching fingers.

Despite the sick feeling in her gut she got from seeing the weapon, having it back in her hand, ready to taste blood, felt oddly familiar and right. Holding the machete, she felt complete, and she hated it.

"Agents."

Sam and Frankie swiveled over to the desk where Bernice stood in the dim lights leaking from the hallway. They quickly hid their weapons, hoping she didn't see them in the low light. Sam was quick to regain his air of authority needed to pull of an FBI agent.

"Miss Hampton. You called us regarding important information?"

"Yes, sir, I did. If you will follow me we can talk in my office."

She turned and headed down the hallway. In the dim lighting, Sam and Frankie glanced at each other, suspicion coating their barely visible features. They stepped around the desk and followed after her.

"I thought the daycare closed at five," Sam idly muttered.

"It did. But since these disappearances started up, we've let everyone go early." Sam skeptically nodded his head.

Bernice met them at the door and held it open for them with a tight smile. That smile faltered once the woman caught sight of Frankie's beaten face. She was ready to sink her machete into her skull the moment she brushed passed her, but she contained herself enough to sit down in one of the chairs in front of Bernice's desk.

"Alright, Miss Hampton," Sam spoke up from the other chair. "What's this important information you have for us?"

Bernice rounded her desk and pulled on the edge of her cardigan before sitting in her chair with a faint huff. She linked her hands together in front of her, resting above idle papers and stray pencils. She gave them a tired smile.

"I know you're hunters."

Sam and Frankie simultaneously lost their breath. Bernice stared at them quietly, calm, whereas the two felt apprehension buzzing like bees under their skin. Frankie went numb, the only feeling she had left being the sensation of her machete's handle digging into her spine. Her fingers trembled, ached, to grab ahold of it for protection.

Sam's mouth opened and contracted several times to try and form some sort of response. The confession was the last thing he expected when he walked through the daycare's doors.

The tense air was intoxicating, and something had to be said. Frankie forced the only thing she could out of her mouth. "How?"

Bernice eased back in her chair, linked hands resting on her stomach. "Well at first I was oblivious, but after three FBI agents stroll into town and choose to stay in grungy motels rooms, well, one gets suspicious." Sam and Frankie quickly glanced at each other in bewilderment. Did she _spy_ on them? Bernice expertly read their jumbled faces and shrugged. "Small town. Word gets around."

"So," Sam finally spoke, voice growing a rough and dangerous edge. "That means you-"

"Are a tammatuyuq," she finished. "Yes sir." Frankie's eyes widened, head perking up to really look at the 'woman' across from her. She was a monster? A real, full-blooded tammatuyuq? "But I'm not the one you're looking for."

Sam sarcastically nodded his head. "I'm sure you aren't."

"Wait," Frankie spoke, dipping her head and connecting eyes with the monster in front of her. "You mean there're more of you?"

"Don't listen to her. She's lying," Sam shushed.

Bernice shot him a piercing glare. "Why would I lie about something like this? Why would I give away my biggest secret to _hunters_ if not to help you?"

"How do we know you're really a monster?" Frankie asked, ignoring the woman's plight. "How do we know you're not just saying you are for… whatever reason?"

Bernice lifted an exasperated brow and rolled her eyes. She leaned forward on the desk and opened her mouth. Frankie watched with both horror and intrigue as four thin fangs sprouted from Bernice's gums. Frankie couldn't take her eyes off of them. A real tammatuyuq in the flesh! If she wasn't in danger she would feel exuberated to finally meet a monster that wasn't currently trying to eat her. She had so many questions!

"Alright then, Bernice. Start talking," Sam continued, voice leveling. Frankie snapped out of her mild trance, closing her mouth that she was unaware was hanging open. "Tell us what you know."

Bernice pulled a guarded face and pointed it at Sam. "I must say, ' _Agent_ ', I'm surprised you're giving me the time of day."

"Children are dying." Sam's eyes held a no-nonsense glint. "Either you killed them or you know who did. Either way, we're solving this case now. So tell us what you know."

Bernice held the distrustful gaze with Sam. Frankie felt the shared hatred between the two resonating off of them, but didn't care at the moment. All Frankie cared about was whether or not tammatuyuq hibernated or whether they used dens or nests.

After a few lingering moments of glaring, Bernice backed down and sighed into her chair. "Uki. She's killing them."

Frankie's pondering over the monster ceased at the mention of the supposed culprit. "The babysitter?"

"You gotta be kidding me," Sam sighed.

Frankie snapped her head over to Sam. "Dean was right."

Sam pushed back the worry congealing in the back of his head at the thought of Dean being with what Bernice said was the killer to focus on Bernice herself. "What, so you don't have any part in this? You don't have a hand in taking the kids and sucking out their blood? You really expect us to believe that? We saw you loosen the hinges on the bathroom window. You set that up to steal the kids."

Frankie's ever sharp eyes didn't miss the pained mist in Bernice's eyes. When she spoke, her voice came out collected and level, but the look alone painted her words in a wounded tone. "Yes. I loosened it to make it easier to steal kids. But not for me. I don't drink human blood. I eat human food just like you. I do sip a bit of cow blood every now and then if I deserve a treat, but I haven't drunk human blood since nineteen thirty-nine."

"So, what? You just woke up one day and decided you didn't like the taste of children?"

"No. It took many years of grueling starvation." Bernice adjusted herself in her seat uncomfortably as her glower landed on Sam. "We were chased out of our homeland by you hunters. You slaughtered our families, _our_ children. We had to jump around from land to land to avoid you picking off our pack one by one."

"You travel in packs?" Frankie blurted. Her damn interests kept getting the better of her. She just wished she brought her journal with her to write down all the new information.

"Yes. We had to blend in wherever we could, but they kept finding us. Eventually, we knew we had to get out of our comfort zone and went south, finally settling here in Shelby. We had to make this place last. We were exhausted, starving. We made lives for ourselves here, but it was… difficult." She sensed the curious gazes on Sam and Frankie and held up a hand. "Let's just say we weren't warmly welcomed and leave it at that."

"It is pretty hard to make friends when you _eat_ their kids," Sam bit.

Bernice snapped her head up, teeth nearly bearing. Frankie held her breath, silently wishing she would show her teeth again. She wanted to log a mental image to add to her notes. "We didn't kill anyone! Not at first. After years of starving myself, it was easier to refuse the temptation, not to say it wasn't… _isn't_ there."

"Is that why you opened this daycare? To repress your temptation?" Sam's venomous tone made Bernice swallow.

"This place was built to be a… sick slaughter house of sorts. _Not_ my idea. But after a while, I really felt for these kids. I…," Bernice huffed a weak chuckle. "I blended in so well that I fell in love with my food. The children I used to have… these kids took their place. So I told Uki she couldn't kill these kids. None of them. She and the others got their food elsewhere. I never looked into it. There used to be an orphanage here…"

Frankie's heart tugged at the point Bernice was getting at. Sam cleared his throat, having felt the same way. "So if you love human kids so much, why didn't you stop her from eating them? Why are you helping her steal these kids now?"

"She was our pack leader. I don't tell her what to do, or I'll meet a similar fate to the kids." Bernice lowered her head, eyes downcast. Her voice held a sorrowful hesitance. "There were five of us when we came to Shelby. Each of them had a grievance. I last saw them in ninety-four."

Sam and Frankie narrowed their brows and met their gazes. _'Escaped to Cuba my ass,'_ Frankie thought.

"She came to me, telling me to take down the cameras and loosen the window. I told her to beat it. I wasn't going to help her eat my kids! But… she made her authority clear." Bernice hesitated to lift her hand, but she took a breath and lowered the collar of her turtleneck. Thick, jagged scars peppered her jugular. She quickly covered the scars and collected herself, holding her head high despite her glistening eyes. "I've built a life here. I'll watch it burn if she stays alive. Kill her. Please. Avenge my children."

"Where is she?"

"Here." Bernice grabbed a blank card and wrote down an address. "4367 Caraway Avenue. Southside. You better hurry. She's got plans to lure your associate into her trap."

"Oh god," Frankie gasped, snapping her head over to Sam.

Sam nodded at her as he took the card. He stared at the writing, tapping his fingers against the corners as a sigh whispered over his lips. "Of course you know we can't leave you alive. You could regain your taste for kids at any moment."

Bernice jerked her head back, offended at his assumption. "I won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do! I swear! I've been clean for decades!"

Frankie, already antsy with the idea of Dean being in trouble, rested a hand on Sam's arm. "Sam. Maybe we should let her go." He burrowed his brows down at her, but before he could say anything, Frankie grabbed his arm and lifted him from the chair. She walked him over to the door and lowered her voice to a whisper. "I know I haven't seen many monsters, but I have seen them. She doesn't look like one to me."

"Frankie, we don't know if she's telling the truth," he sighed.

"She told us her leader and is _begging_ us to kill her."

"She could be leading us into a trap."

Frankie pressed her lips together. She didn't feel all that comfortable leaving her alive, but Frankie thought herself a good judge of character. She seemed more human than monster to her. "Maybe. But what if she isn't? What if she really is just a monster who's tired of running?"

Sam looked helplessly into his sister's eyes. He knew those eyes well. He should. He had them, too. When he was a kid in 1998. He met that kitsune, Amy Pond. He didn't kill her. He didn't kill her because he saw good in her, and he knew good when he saw it.

He looked into Frankie's pleading eyes. She was more like him than he wanted to accept. She saw good in people, too, even in him. He couldn't believe he disappointed such a good person, his sister.

He sighed and nodded his head. The relived look on the girl's face was worth the heat he'd later get from Dean. "Okay," he huffed, turning on his heels to face Bernice. "We'll believe your story for now. But the minute this turns out to be a lie, you're gunna be drowning in silver."

Bernice gulped and nodded her head. "I understand."

Frankie and Sam rushed out of the daycare, steps getting faster and faster as they realized the danger Dean was probably in.

* * *

A groan spiraled groggily out of Dean's throat as he came to. The back of his head pulsated as a headache spread like a wildfire throughout his skull. He tried to bring a hand to rub his temples, but he found his hands tied behind his back. He gave his hands an experimental twist and felt fraying strands of rope digging into his skin like sewing needles. He tested his legs and found his feet tied to a chair.

He cracked his eyes open. He saw a drain imbedded into concrete. The world around him swirled as he slowly lifted his head. He blinked his eyes as he tried to assess his surroundings. He was in some sort of basement. There were buzzing light fixtures and a table stationed against the wall. An assortment of long, sharp objects were precisely laid out.

His head moved to look at the other side of the room, but his eyes caught sight of a figure on their way. He narrowed his eyes on Uki sitting across from him with a shit-eating grin. He blinked unimpressed at the girl.

"Comfy?" she asked.

He swallowed, moistening his dry throat. "I'd ask for a pillow, but I see you stuffed 'em all in the back of your jeans."

The girl pursed her lips with an annoyed glare, but still kept her polite tone. "There's no need to be rude, ' _Agent_.'"

"No, 'cause kindness is the usual response when someone knocks you out and ties you to a chair in…" Dean gazed around the dark room adorned with chains hanging from the ceiling with squinted eyes. "What is this, a sex dungeon?"

"'Fraid not. Oh, but don't worry." Dean returned his eyes to the girl in time to watch her crawl onto his lap and straddle his legs. She revealed at long, freshly sharpened cape chisel which she waved jauntily in front of his face. "We're still gunna have lots," she tapped his chin with the tip of the chisel, "of," then his nose, "fun," and finally his forehead. Dean quickly made the connection that the chisel was one of the tools she used to impale the children's heads with.

He shot a piecing glare into her prideful eyes. "So you're the bitch eating those kids. Y'know, I've met some heartless broads in my life, but you take the cake, lady."

The pretty blue eyes egoistically gazing down at Dean darkened. "Heartless? I'm not the heartless one here, _hunter_." She stood off of his lap and stood heatedly in front of him. "I'll tell you who's heartless. Those bigoted bastards that run this damn town. They all deserve what they've gotten."

"What, did they hurt your wittle feewings? Aw." He grimaced at the bitch. "Wouldn't hire a monster?"

"A monster, am I? The real monsters are right under your nose." Uki began slowly circling Dean, gesturing widely with the chisel. "The people running this joint think they're caring for the community, but they screw the ones they claim to care for! When my pack came to this town, we were shunned. Disgraced! Met with insults and slurs. _Prejudice_. They took away my family. They bullied them into blending in with society. Made them a part of the community. And what's worse is they let it happen! My family _liked_ being 'human.' They enjoyed the vegan lifestyle, and those damn community helpers are the cause. Gave them homes, hobbies, jobs and education. _They_ became disgraces. They took our dignity. And, hell, as long as the apocalypse is going down, I can take something from them."

"Their kids? That's a little over the top."

Uki stopped in front of Dean. She pointed the chisel at him, the tip merely an inch away from his nose. "No. It isn't. What's over the top is slaughtering _hundreds_ of my brothers and sisters. You hunters have been on our trail for decades. And now I've got three right where I want them."

Dean chuckled at the threat. "Three against one? Odds don't look too good for you, genius."

Uki's face split into a long, evil smirk. "Oh, but it's not three against one. I've got you here, but that hulking tower of flannel and that inept child that shadows you are currently with my sister, Arnakuagsak."

"Gesundheit." Dean's indifferent demeanor didn't falter, but on the inside his mind was a whirlwind of worry. Sam and Frankie did suspect the daycare's owner as the monster. If what Uki was saying was true, they were probably in real danger.

"Well, you know her as ' _Bernice_.' She insisted on an American name. Just makes us look bad. But I'll be rid of her soon, just like the others. I'll end this reign of acculturation and start fresh. I'll start a new pack and take whichever child I damn well please."

"Geez, and here I thought _I_ had family issues."

Uki rounded Dean once more, dragging a sultry hand across his shoulders. "Don't worry. You won't be around long enough to see our children."

Dean's unfazed demeanor finally wavered. "Our?"

Uki returned in front of him, grabbing his chin and pulling it up to meet her gaze. "I'll be sure to give you credit. After all, you are just playing your part. I'll just have to hang onto my dear 'Bernice' until she plays _her_ part in slaughtering _your_ family." Dean flicked his eyes from her own to the stairs behind her. "They're getting their skulls impaled as we speak."

His eyes blinked back into hers, a knowing smirk creasing his cheeks. "Guess again, bitch."

Uki's smirk shrank in confusion, but she quickly became aware of his words when the shuffling of feet sounded behind her. The girl speedily swiveled around and slapped Sam's arm away before he could stab the silver knife into her back.

She swung at him with her chisel, but he dodged her, the tip only missing him by inches. He charged at her, knife swinging upwards towards her throat, and she leaned back, expertly dodging it. Before Sam could regain footing, Uki raised her knee and kicked him in the center of his chest, sending him flying back towards the stairs. She tossed the chisel in her hand with a challenged chuckle before advancing on him as he lifted from the steps.

Frankie ran over to Dean as they brawled. She rounded the chair and grasped at the knots restraining him. He turned his head as far as it would go toward her. "Great timing."

Frankie puffed out a small chuckle. "We were tipped off."

"By who?"

Frankie and Dean's head snapped to the left to see Uki fly through the air into the table of tools, breaking it and sending jagged objects all over the floor. Frankie nodded her head to the girl sprawled on the floor.

"I'm guessing her sister."

Uki gave a primal growl as she rose from the floor to run at Sam. He charged at her with his silver blade ready.

Dean snapped his head back at Frankie as she worked on untying him. "Bernice? She didn't give you any trouble, did she?"

"None at all. She called us up to the daycare. Told us she had information. She ended up telling us everything."

"So you killed her?" Dean furrowed his brows when she didn't answer. "Hey."

"Not exactly."

"Not ex-," he angrily snapped, but was cut off by Sam's pained grunt.

Frankie and Dean whipped their heads over to the wall where Uki had pinned Sam. His knife was missing. Her chisel reared back. Their shouts were muted as Uki impaled Sam's stomach with the chisel.

Frankie sucked in a noisy breath as Sam screamed out in pain. Her body went numb as blood quickly stained his shirt.

"No!" Dean screamed when Uki gave the chisel a twist. His eyes scanned over Sam's pained grimace. Each second that passed as he lingered on Sam's face and his bloody shirt, Dean felt a stone growing in his gut. He needed to get out of that chair. He yanked his loosened arm free and hastily worked at untying the rest of his limbs.

Frankie saw red as Uki yanked the chisel from Sam's gushing stomach. She reared the tool back, ready to strike again, and Frankie reached back for her machete. No one was going to hurt her family. _No one_. She stood from her crouch, growl leaping from her throat, and ran over to Uki. She charged at the monster and pounced onto her, tearing her away from Sam.

Frankie landed on top of Uki with a grunt. She lifted up, not wasting a moment to send the bitch back to hell. She raised her machete high, feeling that rush that she had been both dreading and yearning for. She chopped at the monster, but her wrist was caught. She snarled as she tried jerking her wrist free, but Uki's other hand punched her nose.

Pain, far worse than she felt when it hit the dresser, burst across her nose and stabbed her brain with agony when her knuckles socked her split bridge. She howled in excruciating pain, dropping the machete to grab at her face, and left her guard open. Uki rolled Frankie on her back and reached for another tool to stab her with. Frankie became lucid just in time to grasp hold of her wrist with both hands and push against her efforts.

Dean finally freed himself from the chair and rushed over to Sam sitting against the wall and holding his wound. Dean slid on his knees the rest of the way and grabbed at Sam's hands.

"Move! Let me see!"

Sam groaned and pushed his hands away. "I-It's fine! Go help Frankie!"

Dean turned his head back and watched as Frankie spat in Uki's face and kicked her off of her. She dove for the monster and grasped at her neck with both hands, shaking her so her head repeatedly hit the concrete floor. Dean turned back towards Sam and pulled harder on his hands.

"She's fine. Just let me see!" Sam glanced worriedly back at Frankie as Dean tugged his hands away from his stab wound. It was a shallow cut, bleeding but not profusely. It was a nice clean puncture. "Alright. It's not that bad," Dean whispered to himself. He lifted his head to Sam, weak smile on his cheeks. "It's not even that bad. You're gunna be fine." He shoved off his black jacket and pressed it against Sam's bleeding side. "We're gunna patch you up and you'll be annoying the hell outta me in no time," he spoke with a small chuckle.

Despite his attempts to lighten the dismal mood, Dean was a train wreck on the inside. The moment he saw that bitch sink a chisel into his stomach, Dean lost sight of all the fighting. He forgot about why they were fighting in the first place and forgot about all of Sam's mistakes. All he saw was his brother in trouble, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing him to some cheap monster.

A flashback to the first time he watched Sam die flashed in front of his eyes. He tightly shut them, blocking out his aggrieved screams that he could still hear echoing from the dark pit of his psyche.

"You're gunna be fine," he repeated, patting Sam's shoulder. He nodded his head, pressing his lips together to hide his frown.

"I know I am," Sam grunted, sitting straighter. Dean pressed down on his shoulder to keep him down. "But she won't be! Help her!"

"One at a time, Sam! Just- please!" he yelled, voice cracking. Sam cocked his head to the side and stared confusedly into the worried eyes of the brother he had just been fighting.

Frankie was on her back, staring up at the monstrous Uki as she pinned her arms to the concrete. The foul best opened her mouth and extended her lengthy, razor-sharp fangs. Where Frankie was intrigued by Bernice's, she now feared the white incisors drooling above her. She stared at them, nearly seeing her petrified reflection in them.

"You think you're something special, kid?" the monster growled. Frankie blinked warily up into the eyes of the beast. "You're pathetic! You're weak!" She motioned her head towards Sam and Dean. "You slow them down. They gotta look after you every second or else you'll get yourself killed." Frankie glared at the monster as she licked her fangs. "I've seen hunters and I know for a fact you're not one of 'em. So then what the hell are you?"

Frankie turned her head to the side as drool dripping onto her cheek. She caught sight of her machete, just an arms distance away. Her eyes lit up with alarm, having found her solution. She returned her glower into Uki's expecting gaze and set her jaw. "I'm their sister, you _bitch_!"

Frankie ripped her wrist out of the monster's grasp and reached for the handle. She brushed it with her fingers when Uki dove for her neck and sank her fangs into her throat.

Frankie puffed a silent gasp. Her neck burned and throbbed as Uki constricted her bite, teeth sinking deeper and deeper into her flesh. She couldn't breathe, could barely think. Choking tears blinded her as she frantically reached for her machete, missing, missing, and then clutching the handle. With a silent scream, she quickly shoved the silver blade into Uki's side.

The bite on her neck seized as the machete dug deep into the monster's body. Frankie acted quickly and rolled the beast over onto her back. Frankie yanked her neck out of the beast's jaws and jerked the blade from her body. She lifted the machete high above her head, showering herself in drizzles of blood. She jerked downward with an animalistic roar and sank the blade into Uki's heart.

The monster's eyes went wide and glossy, defeat present in her tears. Frankie felt a surge of power from the sunken blade, and tugged it out of the monster's heart. She looked down at the dying girl in loathing. The thing thought it could stab Sam and try to chew her jugular? She needed to learn her fucking place.

Frankie lifted the machete high again and screamed as she chopped down onto the monster's head, cleaving it right down the forehead. She raised the blade again, chopping down on the shoulder. Then the other shoulder. Then the head once more. Frankie panted as she examined her work. Yup. That thing was dead. She believed the message came across. The message that she was not gunna tolerate her bullshit.

Frankie cocked her head as she retraced her actions, a smile quirking on her blood-coated face. "Holy shit. I'm a badass."

She chuckled to herself as she raised her head. Her chuckle faded once she found her brothers. They were looking at her weird. They had a disturbed look in their eyes, but Frankie couldn't find the reason.

Dean flicked his eyes down to the monster she straddled, and then darted his eyes to her dripping machete. Sam couldn't take his eyes off of her. He looked less confused than Dean and more… upset? Like he saw something he wished he hadn't.

She wasn't an idiot. She knew they saw her take down the tammatuyuq. She knew they saw her go a little excessive there for a minute, but they should be proud! Dean should be glad she killed the thing and Sam should be relieved to see she could hold her own. They should be happy!

Shouldn't they?

Frankie looked back down to the mutilated body. She felt pride when she was killing it, but now the aftermath just looked… gruesome. Did she do that? Thinking back over her actions now felt more like a dream than reality that just ran its course. Was she supposed to be proud of herself? Was that the right reaction to have? Should she have felt bad for the monster? Or just thought nothing of killing it? She was so confused. She shouldn't have been confused! She should know what she wanted! But… did she know what she wanted?

She stepped up and off of the monster. The machete dangled wetly next to her. She gave it a grimace and bent down to wipe of the blood on Uki's body as Dean approached her.

"Hey, uh… you okay?" he slowly asked.

Frankie whipped her head over to him. Was he disappointed in her? Concerned? Angry? She shut her eyes to hush her raving thoughts and nodded. Dean furrowed his brows as his eyes fell to her neck.

"Um, you gotta little… you got something…"

Frankie brought her hand up to her neck. She felt blood oozing from three small holes, but she jolted when her fingers found the fourth hole. There was something protruding out of it. She hissed as she pulled the thing out and looked down to her fingers. It was a fang. A long, bloody tooth. She huffed out a small chuckle as Dean pointed to it.

"Little souvenir," he chuckled, slapping her shoulder. Frankie smiled at her prize… until she didn't. That thing was in her neck. That monster's fangs were n her neck. She could've been killed! One moment wasted and she would be choking on her own blood.

She absentmindedly brushed her fingers over her neck. She almost died. Where were the angels? And thank God they didn't show up.

Frankie shook her head from her paranoid thoughts and shoved the fang into her pocket.

Sam's grunt as he stood up brought their attention back to their injured brother. "C'mon. Help me with him," Dean commanded Frankie.

"I'm fine- guys, I'm fine," Sam urged, pushing them away. They ignored him and each held an arm as they walked him up the stairs and to the Impala. Dean drove him to the motel, Frankie following in the Buick.

* * *

Dean walked through Sam's door with a bucket of ice. He gave a short-lived smile to Sam sitting on the bed, and he returned it. Dean grabbed a washcloth from the sink and filled a handful of ice into it. He walked back over to Sam and handed him the makeshift ice pack.

"How you doin'?" he asked, sitting in a chair across from him.

Sam pressed the cloth to the quickly forming knot on his cheek. "Fine."

Dean huffed and nodded, leaning back in his chair. "Sure."

The two sat in the quiet motel room, thinking over the long day. It was really one for the books. They got so heated in their quarrels that they released their pent up anger on each other in the worst way possible. And in the process they hurt Frankie, the very one they were trying so hard to protect. Dean rubbed his face, thinking over the shove that sent her barreling into the charging Sam.

Then to top it all off, they went up against the tammatuyuq, and Sam got stabbed. That was, oddly enough, the least of their worries. Dean finally saw the side of Frankie that Sam witnessed at Alabama, and he was not in the least okay about it.

"Dean-"

"Sam-," they spoke in unison. Dean snorted with a small smile and nodded to his brother. "Go on."

Sam nodded, a hollow look in his eyes. His voice was small. "You were right. She is ready to be a hunter. She held her own. And I was the one who was almost killed. I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head, staring solidly at Sam. "No, you were right." Sam's head perked up at Dean's admission, a confused glint in his eyes. "She's changing. In a real bad way. I knew she was different, but… how she took down that thing… I've never seen her like that before."

Sam lowered his eyes to the floor, averting his gaze as images from a few short weeks ago were brought back to his thoughts. "I have," he said in a near whisper.

Dean flicked his eyes to Sam, realizing the harsh truth that he had been right all along. He shook his head, silently cursing himself. "Sam, I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

"You didn't wanna believe it," Sam quickly defended. "I wouldn't have either."

Dean appreciated the level of respect Sam was able to muster up after Dean's stubbornness the past few days. He sighed to the side as he focused on the new problem at hand. "So what do we do now? Do we let her fight or keep her at Bobby's or…"

Sam looked back at Dean as he adjusted the ice pack on his face. "Honestly? I don't know. I thought it would be easiest to bench her. Now I'm not so sure."

"Why?"

Sam sighed, lowering the ice pack to his lap. "You heard her. She thinks she's badass. She's gunna wanna fight. She probably thinks she's passed some sort of test. She'll wanna go up against every monster we come across."

Dean swallowed and looked down, linking his hands. He really dug a hole with this one. He forced her to ' _complete her training_.' He pushed her into all this crap and now she must think he expects her to fight. He did. At first. Now he wasn't too set on that idea. "Yeah, I think you're right," he huffed, rubbing his face with both hands.

"She's gunna wanna go up against Lucifer, Dean." Sam and Dean sat in a short silence, taking in the harsh gravity of what that notion meant. "I'm worried what she'll do when we tell her no."

"Worst case scenario, she'll take off. We gotta think this through." Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He linked his hands and brought them to his lips to think. He flicked his eyes up at Sam and lifted a brow. "You're stubborn. How would you handle this?"

Sam scoffed with an amused smile. "Y'know, you're pretty stubborn, too. What would _you_ do?"

Dean shook his head with downcast eyes. "I ain't got a clue. Yesterday I'd tell you she would do what I tell her. I mean, all I gotta do is tell her to follow rule number one. But after seeing her go ape on that monster… I dunno."

Sam twiddled with the threads fraying from the washcloth in his lap. "Maybe she'll just listen."

Dean was extremely pessimistic about that idea. "Maybe."

"And if she doesn't… we have to… we…"

Dean's brows knitted together at Sam's hesitance. His lowered his linked hands and cocked his head to the side. "What?"

Sam swallowed, readying for the uncomfortable subject to be addressed. "If she doesn't listen, we may need to… put her in the panic room."

Dean's head slowly righted back and his back straightened. His face contorted into an affronted glare. "No."

"Just to keep her safe," Sam quickly defended. "She'll be safe there."

"Sam, I'm not locking her in that thing!"

In a quick instant, Sam's eyes misted over with a wounded, envious tint. He pressed his lips together with an indulgent nod, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "But you'd lock me in there," he said, voice small and serious.

Dean dramatically sighed, tossing his head back in exhaustion. "Don't turn this into some sorta favoritism crap. I didn't wanna put you in there. I _had_ to. You didn't leave me a choice."

"And she might not leave us a choice." Dean huffed, shaking his head and moving to leave the conversation. "I'm just- Dean, I'm just saying 'if'! We're not doing anything yet!"

Sitting back down, Dean waved a hand at Sam. "I'm not agreeing to that!"

"Fine," Sam reluctantly appeased, holding his hands up in defense. "Then what would you do if she won't listen?"

Dean was backed in a corner. Sam was coming at him with a suggestion to put Frankie in the panic room and he had no other solution to lean towards. As Sam's suggestion got closer and closer, Dean found one just visible in the distance. "Cas."

Sam's head jerked back in surprise. "Cas?"

"Yeah. He can knock her out. Keep her under until the fight is over."

Sam blinked, his brows rising at Dean's idea of a solution. "That's a horrible plan."

"It's better than locking her in the panic room!" Dean shouted, leaning forward.

"We don't even know if Cas can do that! He's cut off from Heaven. We don't know what he can do."

Dean held his affirmed position, mouth trying to find words to counter Sam's, but he had to admit he had a point. And with no word from the angel in weeks, they didn't know just how bad is situation was.

"Dean, listen." Dean blinked over to Sam with a glare in his eyes. "Putting her in the panic room is a worst case scenario. A last resort. If we can convince her not to get involved, we will do everything in our power to make it happen. Even if we have to drug her." Sam placed both his hands together and pointed them to Dean. "It won't be forever. Just until we deal with Lucifer."

"Which could be forever if we're not careful."

Sam tilted his head to the side with a tight smile. "Then we'll be careful. Just think about it."

Dean sat up, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll think about it if we come to that point. And we're _not_ getting to that point."

Sam huffed and turned his head to the side. Well, at least they weren't punching each other anymore. "Okay."

* * *

Frankie crumpled the paper in her hands, growling as she shakily ripped the wrinkled ball in half. She tossed the remains in the waste basket next to the desk. It shouldn't be this hard to write a damn note!

Frankie soulfully sighed as she held her forehead in her hand, leaning on the desktop. She bobbed the pen above the blank paper, unable to think of a way to say goodbye to Sam and Dean.

She thought long and hard about it on the way back to the motel and even more in the solitude of the room. She couldn't stay with them anymore. It had nothing to do with them and everything to do with her. Oh, that was good. She wrote that bit down on the paper.

They went too far in their fighting, and she couldn't stand the fact that it was her fault. Why was she so damn important in their eyes for them to fight over what was best for her? She seriously wasn't worth it! With her out of the picture they would have nothing to fight over and then they could focus on saving the world. The sooner she was out of their lives the better all their lives, including hers, would be.

She was in constant danger when she was with them, and they were in even more danger with her. She was careless in her actions with the tammatuyuq. She wasn't blind to that. Just like back at Alabama, she let her emotions over her family make her go crazy. Sam was right all along. She was too mentally unstable to be out in the field. She kept making bad mistake over bad mistake. She had to face the fact that she could never be a hunter. And she could no longer be with her brothers.

She crumpled up that paper with another groan and threw it with great force into the trashcan. She rubbed her face with both hands, tears prickling her eyes. She didn't want to leave. But she had to. She _had_ to. She couldn't keep trying to convince herself that longer exposure will break her from her destructive nature. She already betrayed them and she didn't want to stick around to see the aftermath of them finding out.

Her throat coughed up a tiny sob. Why couldn't she just be fucking normal? Why couldn't she follow orders? Why couldn't she be a decent human being?

Why couldn't she have just died in the hospital?

She started writing on another paper, ignoring the teardrops wetting the edges. She sniffed as she wrote down what she thought was decent enough. That's what she was looking for at this point. She just needed to get it done before Dean came back. That would be a conversation she'd like to avoid.

She signed the note at the end and folded it in half. She wrote their names on the top and walked over to her bed. Once tucked it under her pillow and shut off the lights, she lay under the blankets and pretended to be asleep.

* * *

She rolled over to look at the clock. It was a quarter past one. She glanced across the dark room where the moonlight illuminated Dean's sleeping form. His light snores filled the room.

Frankie bit her lip as she slowly slinked out of bed. She tiptoed over to the desk and gently placed the note where it would be easily spotted. She flicked her eyes back over to Dean. He hadn't moved. Frankie kept her breathing in long, slow, silent inhalations. She carefully grabbed her packed bag and slid into her pre-tied sneakers.

She grasped the doorknob and swallowed, praying to God – she found herself doing that a lot lately – that the door would be quiet. The knob turned silently. Okay. That was promising. She held her breath as she pulled back on the door.

She quietly exhaled when it opened without a sound. She slipped outside, loving the warm night air on her AC cooled skin. She slowly closed the door behind her, pausing to catch one last glimpse of her brother. Her throat tightened and she knew she couldn't stay a moment longer. She shut the door as quietly as humanly possible.

Frankie stepped away from the motel room, gazing sorrowfully at Sam's door. She backed away, feeling an ever lingering tug to go back to the last family she had left on the planet. Forget her sanity, forget her safety. She should just run back inside and jump on the bed, forgetting she ever considered leaving her family.

She shook her head, tears glossing her cheeks, and turned around. She picked up the pace in her steps, lest she never leave them. She walked passed stores and diners and gas stations, but her eyes pointed to the sidewalk. She mindlessly counted the slabs she walked over, finding anything to do to stop thinking about how much she hated doing this.

She glanced up to the scarcely starred sky to think of anything else, and only one thing came to mind. A song. One she was having real mixed feelings about. Her throat hummed involuntarily along. As she walked in the isolation under the stars, not a car passing by, her weak voice decided to join in on the nonexistent fun.

"'Cause here I go again on my own. Walkin' down the only road I've ever known. Like a drifter I was born to walk alone…"

She lowered her head to stare ahead of her. That's where she was heading. Ahead. To the future of her life. One she was not looking forward to.

"'Cause I've made up my mind… I ain't wastin' no more time."


	31. Chapter 30 - Alone

**A/N: Okay... wow. Imagine the blush on _my_ cheeks at the thought of a month with nada. No chapter, no update, y'all left completely in the dark. So damn sorry, my dudes, I have no excuse. These chapters just keep getting really long for some reason. So what I've done is split the chapter in two. Again. This time is good, though, cuz now y'all get TWO chapters. Yay!**

 **Now question time: Would y'all prefer really long chapters every so often, or small to meduim level chapters poppin' out quicker than I've been going at it (Which I'll try my damndest to deliver either way)? Let me know and I'll make it so.**

 **As always, thanks for putting up with my bullshit. I'll get myself together eventually. Y'all make the dream work! Love ya!**

* * *

 _Sam + Dean_

 _This can only be said straightforward. I'm leaving. As you are reading this, I will have been long gone. This is no one's fault but my own. My absence is what's best for my safety and yours. My brothers have much more to worry about than their unstable sister. Don't worry. I'll be fine. I've lived on my own for years. This is the only way to keep everyone away from the danger that will follow me. I don't know when we will next meet. With luck, that will be a long time from now, after you save the world. Take care of each other, and please don't fight over this. This is my choice. See y'all on the flip side._

 _P.S. Give my love to Bobby for me._

 _~Frankie E. Pearce-Winchester_

"Dammit." Sam lowered his phone from his ear, glaring down at the pestering screen that mutely played her voicemail once again. His feet dully thrummed against the carpet as he paced the floor of the motel room, trying for her number again just as he had been for the last lengthy twenty minutes.

While Sam spent his time tirelessly trying for Frankie's phone number, Dean sat quietly on the end of her bed, holding her note in his hand and scanning every word. His face was stone cold and unwavering, not so much as a twitch of an eye hinting at any emotion.

Sam cursed again when her voicemail mumbled through the faint speakers of the flip phone, his own voice projecting a fretful and frenzied tremble. "She couldn't've gone far. Maybe she took a bus o-or a shuttle. We can track them and go from there. Let me get my laptop."

"She'd've hitchhiked. Covers her tracks better."

Sam flicked his eyes over to Dean, brows pulling together at the vacant, far-away sound in his voice. "How do you know that?"

"I trained her. Taught her how to fly under the radar. I wouldn't bother trying to track her phone either."

"Dammit," Sam repeated, pressing his hands into his hips. He brought a hand up to his face and massaged his jaw in frustration. "Well what do we do then? We can't just let her go!"

"I know."

Sam stepped towards his lounging brother. "Then what do we do?! You know her best. Is there some place she'd go? Friends she'd stay with?"

Dean's eyes were far from present in the room. "No."

"Maybe a place she'd think we'd never look?" Dean shook his head. "Dean, you're not trying! Focus here! We've gotta get our sister back!"

"I _know_."

Sam poked and prodded Dean's slouched form with his apprehensive stare. "What's going on with you? What's wrong?"

Dean wasn't acting like himself at all. He should've been on his feet like Sam, pacing the floor, cursing, stomping, and promising to give Frankie the reprimand of a lifetime for running off, but he wasn't. He was sulking, moping on the bed, gazing pitifully into the girl's note like a teen after a bad breakup.

He raised his head, the first of any emotion finally bleeding onto his wounded gaze. "This's my fault," he admitted, voice firm, yet hinting at a reluctant weakness. "I pushed her. Literally _and_ figuratively. She wasn't ready for this, for any of this. She told me. I didn't-…" He tossed the flimsy piece of paper onto the comforter and buried his face in his hands. He rubbed his palms deep into his eye sockets and then slid his fingers across his cheeks with a deep groan. "This's my fault."

Sam grasped his shoulder and pushed him back, lifting Dean's head to meet his dictating stare. "You can mope around and feel guilty _after_ we find her, okay? Now help me out here! I can't do this by myself!"

Dean felt a bleak bubble trickle off his tongue when he heard Sam's last declaration. There was an open opportunity to spout a bitter and resentful remark over his previously planned separation from them, but he was supposed to be working on his bitterness, no matter how much the call to snark pulsed within him.

"She has no sense of direction," he exhaled, pushing on his knees to hoist himself to his feet. "Alabama's all she's ever known, and there's no way in hell she'll go back there. She'll make completely random choices, never staying in one place too long. She's gunna get lost, and that's exactly where she wants to be."

Sam crossed his arms and nodded, considering her alleged tactics. "She can't go too far."

"I wouldn't be so sure. She wants to go far, and she's got enough cash to keep her out there."

Sam grit his teeth, stewing in a pit of frustration. Dean wasn't giving him much room to create a suitable plan. The least he could do was suggest his own ideas on how to find her. "So what do you think our first move should be?" he asked slowly, agitation lightly licking at his words.

Dean crossed his own arms over his chest, his eyes swishing over the floor as if he had dropped an idea somewhere. He faintly cocked his head when one pranced into his brain. Sam lifted his eyebrows in anticipation at the noticeable hint of an idea.

"Cas. He can find her." Sam's brows then descended. What was with him and using Cas to solve their problems? "She's not hidden from angels. He'll have a lot more luck finding her than we will."

Sam was just about as hopeful with the idea as he was with the one the night before, but it wasn't like his brain was sprouting any ideas. He nodded his head, inhaling a deep and optimistic sigh. "Okay. Let's call him up then."

Dean nodded along with him. For a few moments, no one said anything, and Dean was left confused until he noticed Sam staring at him with a lifted brow. His head pulled back at the unspoken urge for him to do the praying. He opened his mouth to… to what? Refuse? Or tell Sam to pray instead? Dean knew their best bet to reach the angel was for him to pray, but he didn't like Sam knowing that, too. He wasn't the only one who was friends with Cas. Yeah, they were good pals, but he could be buddy-buddy with Sam, too. At least he thought that. He had no idea if the angel and his brother ever interacted aside from cases.

He shook his head and quietly groaned. His eyes closed and he spread his arms wide in an informal prayer. "Our Cas, who's _not_ in Heaven, hurried be your ass." Sam cocked his head in a tired, incredulous stare. Dean cracked an eye open to see the jaded look on his brother's face and bristled. He sighed as he closed his eyes again. "Cas. We need your help. I know I've been asking you for a lot lately, but this is really important. We need you. Now." He opened his eyes again and looked around the room. It was just like it had been since they found the note that morning, no other being present. Dean swallowed down his pride as he closed his eyes once more. "C'mon, Cas. It's about… it's about Frankie. _Please_ get your ass down here."

"Hello, Dean." The two men snapped their eyes open and turned their heads towards the room's bathroom sink. Castiel stood in all his trench-coated glory with his trademark intense stare pointed at the eldest Winchester. He blinked over to the younger and gave a single nod. "Sam."

While Cas mostly looked like he always had, his eyes harbored prominent purple bags underneath them. His mouth was set in a rigid frown and his eyes lacked the sparkle of attention to follow whatever order or task he was given. The blemishes were so out of place, yet would have gone overlooked by any other person. But they were quite noticeable to Sam and Dean, and that wasn't good at all. He didn't look like the old Seraph he once was, and he didn't even look like the Cas they knew and loved. He looked utterly, regrettably human.

Dean's jaw clenched as his eyes roamed the angel's face. While the exhausted visage of his friend brought its own pain, the sight of Castiel filled him with a different type of sting. It had been weeks since they last saw each other. They were in the hospital and he had given him his necklace to 'find God' or whatever. Dean had prayed too many times to him for the angel to just pop in this one random time, and that made Dean wonder as to why. Why was this time different? Why was it different from the other times he had prayed to know how the search for God was going or if he needed any help or if he could help _them_ or, hell, if he was even alive? Why was this the one time out of many that he chose to spare him of a raw throat and bloody knuckles?

He swallowed the bristly tone waiting on his tongue and replaced it with a neutral, unemotional voice. "Hey, Cas. How you been hangin'?"

The angel looked down in thought, twitching his fingers and crinkling his brow as his mind raced almost visibly. "Long, loose, and full of juice." Cas nodded his head with the slightest smile like he was proud of himself for remembering what he thought was the proper response.

"Uh… what?" Sam muttered, sending him the same confused yet amused stare that was on Dean's face.

Noticing the baffled reaction from the two men, Cas shuffled his feet as his fingers curled into loose fists. "Um… I had heard Dean respond to that question like that once. Um… I'm fine. I've been fine."

While Sam barely kept his amused chuckle in his chest, Dean nodded his head with cold eyes and a stern face. "Fine enough to drop in for a chat every now and then?" Sam's almost-chuckling died as soon as the bitter words left Dean's lips.

Cas squinted his eyes at the gruff tone in Dean's voice, uncertain of the meaning yet certain that he didn't like whatever that meaning was. "I've been busy."

"Oh yeah. It shows."

Cas' puzzled stare didn't waver for a moment as Dean burned into him with his vague glare. Sam sensed the tension birthing between them and stepped in to move along the conversation before someone _else_ got hurt.

"Uh, Cas? We really need your help."

The angel took the opportunity to tear his eyes away from the scowling man and focus on Sam, though Dean kept his frigid eyes buried into Castiel. "I really can't stay long. God's trail is already cold. I'm losing progress just speaking with you."

"Yeah, God, apocalypse, yada yada. This's important."

Sam could feel the quick rush of anger fill the room, all emanating from the angel. Castiel turned his head over to Dean, an unfamiliar fire present in his resolute irises. Dean stiffened at the very sight and kept the small fear from their appearance buried deep within him. The angel began slowly striding over to Dean. "I'm sorry I haven't dropped in for a 'chat' every now and then, _Dean_ , but don't insinuate that my efforts are not of the upmost importance."

Dean's jaw clenched at the low, stormy sound of Castiel's voice. His vision blocked out everything in the room other than Cas' incensed frown a mere foot from his own. This whole God business was apparently really important to him, and Dean felt instant regret of insulting that to the celestial being's face. Even then he wouldn't back down from his offended glare, causing Dean to disguise his uncomfortable shuffle as merely adjusting his footing and crossing his arms. He felt like he should apologize, but that ability seemed far from reachable when he was scowling at him with those tired, fiery eyes.

"Frankie's missing," Sam blurted.

The fire in Castiel's eyes fizzled, his tense face slacking, his cloudy irises sharpening. Dean's discomfort fizzled as well, not at Sam's words, but at Cas' reaction to them. Dean squinted his own eyes and regained the frigidness in them once the angel whipped his head over to Sam.

"What?" he gnarled. The urgent tone in the syllable went over Sam's head, but Dean picked up on the suspicious sound of the word. He cocked his head, still staring at the angel, as Sam explained the situation.

"We were on a case and things got… ugly." Dean noticed that Castiel's left eye gave the slightest twitch. "She, uh, left this note before she ran off last night."

Sam snatched the note from the bed and handed to Castiel. He took it without a moment's hesitation and scanned his eyes over every line on the paper. Dean watched for any other strange signs, but when Sam turned his head over to him, he realized that staring so hard at the angel without saying a word looked suspicious as well.

"We need you to find her and beam her back before she gets into trouble," Dean instructed, but Castiel looked as if he hadn't heard a thing. He continued to stand in the middle of the musty motel room, scrutinizing their sister's note without a word. Dean's brows cinched together, both in curiosity and annoyance at the lack of clear emotion. "Think you can help us out?" he spoke again with a sturdy, forceful tone.

Castiel cracked his lips open, taking a moment to judge his words, before lifting his head to Sam. "I can't."

"You can't?" Sam echoed confusedly with wide eyes. "W-What do you mean?"

Dean noticed a single moment of hesitation, not even a full second, before Castiel straightened his shoulders and painted a mechanical, angelic façade onto his weary features. "My status with Heaven, as you know, leaves my power limited. With each passing day my wings weaken. Transporting a human would no doubt dangerously drain me."

Dean broadened his shoulders, eyes challenging. "Well then just find her and tell us where she is. We'll go get her." Even though he stood only a foot away from the angel, Castiel didn't look in Dean's direction. He held a firm front, body and gaze pointed in a lost direction between Sam and the front door.

"Dean, I can't waste my powers on every small matter you ask of me. My mission is more important than locating your fugitive sister. And by the sound of this letter she feels that she's letting up on the distractions from our current predicament. I can't say that I disagree with her."

"Alright, forget about the apocalypse for, like _five hours_ , okay?!" Both Sam and Cas flinched at the sudden influx of anger that filled Dean's voice, but Cas still remained stoic. Dean kneaded his face with a lone hand before speaking in an attempted calm voice. "Cas, look at me." The angel didn't budge. " _Look_ at me, Cas."

Castiel's throat gave a small bob before he flicked his eyes into Dean's, blue irises sheltering a dangerously vexed glower. Dean ignored the pain that grew in his chest from seeing his friend's exhaustion up close.

"This is our sister. She's family. She comes before Michael and Lucifer and Heaven and _all_ that crap! I lent you my necklace to help you. The least you could do in return is this one thing. It's not like I'm asking you to rob a freakin' bank! Just find my sister! That's not so damn hard!"

Looking into Castiel's eyes was like staring at a painting. He didn't move. It was eerie how still the image of the frustrated angel was and the proximity of the scowl to Dean's didn't help with the discomfort.

Dean knew good and well that he was mouthing off and barking orders to celestial warrior of Heaven. Well… ex-celestial warrior of Heaven. Castiel certainly had the power to end him with a snap of his fingers, even with his draining powers. But Cas wouldn't do something like that; they were pals, friends. Good friends. Although, looking into the provoked irises of the angel sent a chill of doubt up Dean's spine. At this point he might as well be poking a puma with a fire poker.

Castiel finally turned his head all the way in Dean's direction, looking at him dead in the eyes. Dean reminded himself to breathe as he hardened his already unyielding gaze.

"As you wish. Dean."

With the sound of fluttering wings filtering out of the room and a gust of wind stinging Dean's eyes, Castiel had flown off. Dean quietly cleared his throat and regained any lost composure before Sam could notice his momentary vulnerability.

"You shouldn't push him like that," his brother scolded. Dean barely offered him a look before walking over to the window. "After all, he _is_ putting his ass on the line for us."

Dean brushed the curtain away from the glass as he stared out to the gray storm clouds in the sky. Soft thunder grumbled over the hills of Montana. "He'll get over it. Everything'll be fine when we get her back." And Dean believed it. He had to. He had to get her back, to make up for hurting her. For being a bad brother. He wouldn't fail that kid again.

* * *

She shaded in a few trouble spots with her pencil. Sitting back, she flicked her eyes from the tooth on the table to the illustration on the paper in front of her. She quirked a lip and twisted the pencil in her fingers, sending the eraser to scrub against the graphite markings. After twisting the pencil once more and lengthening the lines of her latest edit, Frankie placed her pencil down next to her journal and gazed down to her newest addition to her catalogue.

The paper depicted a nearly identical image of the tammatuyuq she killed. She didn't like to toot her own horn, but she often credited herself for being a decent artist. Spending so much time inside the four walls of her childhood left a girl little to do but copy old illustrations from ancient books.

The drawing in front of her captured the troubled glint in its eyes, the manic furrow of its brows, and the impressive length of its canine fangs. Her eyes lingered on the accurate sharpness the drawing depicted.

She swallowed as her fingers reached up to her neck, fingertips brushing against the four fresh punctures in her skin. The small nicks stung at the slightest bit of pressure pressed against them. While she acknowledged the pain, she didn't stop pressing the marks.

The pain was a reminder of the event having been real. She really met a tammatuyuq. She really was almost killed by it. She really did own a tooth from the beast she killed. It really shouldn't have been such a shock, seeing as she went against demons and knew a freakin' angel, but to hold the tooth of a monster she'd studied for years was an ethereal feeling, one she oddly craved more of.

A waitress approached her table with a smile and filled in her empty mug with more coffee. Frankie offered a miniscule smile, choosing not to notice the concerned look the woman gained when she saw the drawing in her journal.

Frankie rubbed her eyes, heavy from lack of sleep, and leaned her elbows on the table of her booth. She sniffed as she looked out the window, watching as raindrops raced to the windowsill. The rain should have filled her with a steady calm, but it just reminded her of working out in the woods behind Bobby's house. Dean made her practice in rain, sun, or storm. She might have come back to the house soaked and sniffling, but her muscles grew firmer, and Dean was always proud of that. She'd do anything to make him proud.

With a somber sigh to tear her attention from her family, her fingers returned to her pencil and began writing underneath the illustration.

 _Tammatuyuq_

 _Origin: Hudson Bay, Canada; Inuit folklore_

 _Common Locations/Terrain Preference: Colder regions, though some may travel to temperate climates for protection. Cold, dark, and damp areas preferred for dens_

 _Main Diet: Human children, preferably ages 0-4_

 _While both genders exist, tammatuyuq appear in the form of a female human. This is to gain the trust of mothers in order to be left alone with their children, their main diet. While most traverse alone, Tammatuyuq occasionally travel in packs using a hierarchical system with one alpha pack leader (presumably female) and several lower class members. It is speculated that packs can consist of an average of 5 members, though more are possible._

Frankie set down her pencil on the table and grabbed her mug of black coffee. She brought the steaming cup to her lips and blew on it while rereading her work. Without giving much thought to the temperature to the coffee – or rather not caring how hot it was – she sipped the much needed caffeine, feeling the slightest bit of calm in her ever stressful situation.

"Hello, Frankie."

She jumped in her seat at the sudden appearance of Castiel across from her. The shocked jerk of her arm splashed scalding coffee all over her arm and jeans. She screeched out in both pain and surprise, creating a sound similar to a yowling cat in a turf war.

Her unwounded hand hovered helplessly over her burning body as she slammed her mug down on the table. She grasped several napkins from the half-empty holder to her right and began swathing her pants in them. Once her tunnel vision morphed into regular perception, she glared up to the other side of her booth at the angel that was staring at her, baffled.

"Jesus, Castiel! You trying to give me a heart attack?!" Frankie growled behind clenched teeth. She returned her attention to the napkin holder and hastily tore out ten without hesitation.

"It was not my intention, no."

Frankie glanced around to make sure the other diner patrons didn't notice the sudden appearance of the angel. She shot him a scolding look and spoke in a quiet voice. "Y'know you shouldn't just pop in like that. Someone could've seen you."

"No one noticed," he brushed off as a matter-of-factly. Frankie scoffed while rubbing the thin napkins against her singed, sticky arm. "What are you doing?"

Frankie raised her head with a light scowl. "What am I doing? What does it look like I'm doing? I'm nursing a burn wound." Her scowl lifted when her eyes connected with Castiel's. They were cold, serious, holding a stern emotion behind a pressing stare. Frankie bristled at the look. "What?"

Castiel lightly tilted his head, sending her a persistent look that told her that she knew what he was really asking. She did. She averted her eyes, pointing them to a mysterious stain on the table. She pressed harder on the napkins over her jeans to avoid looking at him. She involuntarily flicked her eyes back up into Castiel's. They were more serious, the dark bags under his eyes enunciating the no-nonsense feel of his stony irises.

"Running away," she quietly admitted. "Okay? I'm running away. Happy now?"

Castiel tilted his head the other way, his features frozen in the unrelenting gaze. "Why?"

Frankie swallowed. She struggled with that question. She had her reasons and they were justified in her eyes, but it was very biased reasoning. She was trying to protect her family, but they were strong, smart, clever. They could protect themselves. She could argue that she was running to protect herself, but that was very selfish of her, wasn't it? But when it came down to it, running away was the only thing that felt right.

Side with Dean? Sam feels ignored, degraded, and angry. Side with Sam? Dean feels insulted, disrespected, and angry. Side with Castiel? Frankie feels repulsed for keeping so many secrets from her brothers and also feels angry. But running away, surrounding herself with only herself, who was there for her to hurt? Only Frankie, and she could live with hurting her.

"It's the only thing I can think of. The only way to keep everyone safe."

"Safe… from you?"

Frankie snapped her eyes into the angel's. He kept his insistent gaze, prodding for confirmation. Frankie pressed her lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of confirming his insinuation. "What're you doing here anyway?" she spat irately, reaching for her mug. "How'd you find me?"

"Your brothers are looking for you." The mug never made it to her lips, suspended in midair just before reaching her mouth. "They asked me for help. Finding you was simple enough."

Frankie clenched her teeth and set her mug down on the table with a slight clink, her throat constricting as she swallowed. She bore her eyes into Castiel's, her eyes sparkling with urgent pleading. "Please don't tell them where I am. Please, Castiel, I'm leaving for a reason. I don't-"

"I won't tell them. I agree with your decision."

Frankie was only aware of her breath stilling when she went to swallow again. She cleared her tight throat as her brows fell in confusion, head slightly tilting down with curiosity. "You do?"

Castiel's unwavering stare finally melted away when he leaned back in his seat, hands linking in his lap. "You're less likely to be in danger when you're not with your brothers. The angels are after them, not you. For now." Frankie shuddered, but tried to hide it by sitting back in her seat as well. "If they get caught, you'll stand no chance against the angels. It's safer away from them as opposed to being on a case with them."

Frankie's eyes went wide. He wasn't supposed to know about the case. She darted her eyes into his, seeing that they had suddenly turned cold once again.

"I told you not to go on cases with them, Frankie. I told you it was dangerous," he snapped, voice lowering to a rumble.

"Yeah, but nothing happened," she quickly came back. "No angels or demons showed up!"

"And yet your face has been damaged and injured. It's very clear to me that something _did_ happen." Frankie's lips parted to counter his argument, to point out that it wasn't the monster that injured her, but she felt that he wouldn't take the news that his friends harmed the human he swore to protect lightly. "You could've been killed. Of course you realize who would have been alerted if that were to happen."

Frankie pressed her lips hard together, puffing out her cheeks, her eyes darkening. "No one. Except a demon. I sold my soul, remember?" she bitterly hissed.

"Exactly. If you die, you go to Hell. You'll be in the possession of demons _and_ Lucifer. If you're killed and taken to Hell, you personally give them the opportunity to threaten Sam and Dean with your soul."

Sorrow swelled in her chest, filling her with dark, stormy clouds not unlike the ones she gazed at through the window. "Once they figure out I sold my soul, they won't care what happens to me." Frankie crossed her arms over her chest. A rumble of thunder echoed from over the far off hills, dousing her in a cold shower of despair.

Retaining their safety wasn't the only good side to running away. This way –as long as that bastard Crowley kept his fucking mouth shut – her brothers would never find out about her mistake. At least her memory wouldn't be tarnished. They could look back and think of her as a decent human being, never to find out the sordid truth.

Castiel quietly exhaled, sounding nearly like a hushed humorless chuckle. "It seems you don't know your brothers all that well." Frankie flicked her inquisitive eyes back over to him. He replaced his resolute stare with a softer – more human, she noted – look in his eye. "I won't tell them where you are, but I will be checking on you more often. Your safety is not something to disregard." Frankie huffed. In her eyes, she was more worthless than a half dollar. She really didn't get the big whoop of her protection and how important it was. "You need to be careful until I find God. Do you understand?"

Frankie rolled her eyes. "Yes."

Castiel was quiet for a moment. His eyes seemed to scan every pore in her face, trying to assess her thoughts without reading them. Whether he gave up or decided it wasn't worth the effort, he straightened his back and put on a blank face. "I will check on you later tonight."

Frankie really didn't feel up to receiving nightly checkups, but it seemed like that was exactly what was in store. "Oka-" She was cut off when Castiel flew off, leaving her in a booth talking to herself. She checked to make sure no one was aware of his sudden departure, and when nobody was she leaned back in her seat, tightening her crossed arms. "Nice chat."

* * *

The wheel of a passing car jostled into a pothole in the adjacent lane, misting the Impala with not-so-fresh rainwater. In lieu of a verbal curse, Dean gruffly groaned at the unknown driver and continued down the dark road.

The car was quiet, save for tiny raindrops pecking at the windows and the Impala's familiar purr. Every once in a while a car would pass with its own melody of wet rubber sliding against damp asphalt. Among the two brothers sitting inside, however, not a word was spoken.

Sam was filled with intense boredom, and sleep was not an option. Not with all the worrying his bustling brain was suffering through. He absentmindedly counted the individual spheres of rain that speckled the passenger side window. Each time a raindrop spilled onto the glass, he would recount. It was mind-numbing, but it was far better than fretting over his sister.

The best way to get through the whole ordeal was to focus on one thing and one thing only: finding her. That was it. There was no time to squeeze in wringing his hands over whether or not she was okay.

' _Of course she's not okay. You and Dean wrecked her face and then she almost had her jugular ripped out by a monster before carrying her bleeding brother away to be sewn up with dental floss. Would you be okay after that?'_

Well… yes. He would have. Because he was raised to take hit after hit. She wasn't. This whole experience was alien to her. He didn't blame her for running off. After all, he was more than experienced with running away from a hostile environment. He understood her more than she probably realized. If she had known, maybe she wouldn't have taken off. He could have been someone she could talk to, someone to ground her when her mind started to flee from the constant blows life was throwing her way. But instead he focused on shoving her in a dark pit and locking her inside all in the name of keeping her safe from harm.

And now look at her. Wandering the streets, taking rides from complete strangers who could take advantage of her. Cold. Wet. Alone. Scared. All because they decided it was their right to decide her fate. And just when their quarreling came to its peak, her fate was sealed. She took her life into her own hands, and he knew all too well how slippery a fearful persons hands could be.

Sam sighed as his hand rose to his face. "Say something," he moaned.

Dean briefly glanced at Sam, confused. "What?"

"Just say something. Please. It's too quiet." He did not want to be left alone with his thoughts. They began painting vivid pictures of Frankie in a hundred different situations, all ending bloody. "Anything. Say anything."

Dean scoffed at his brother and turned his attention back to the road. Sam waited impatiently for him to speak, but instead the radio hissed to life. Dean worked the knob to find a station. One came up, spouting some early nineties hip hop jam. He grimaced and tuned into another station. The next one was mindless chatter between two monotone douches which Dean turned off as quickly as possible. Finally, after numerous twists of the knob, the screeches of guitars and pounding of drums sang through the speakers.

" _And here I go again on my own!"_

Dean jutted his finger so hard onto the off button that any harder would have broken it. Sam warily glanced over to his brother, watching as his cheeks constricted with a clenched jaw.

"I dunno what you want me to say," he grumbled. "There's nothin' on my mind."

"I know that's not true, Dean. We both know that's not true."

Dean didn't tear his eyes from the windshield. He shook his head, a weighted sigh escaping his frowning lips. "I don't know, Sam. How's your day been?" Sam frowned at Dean, the latter glancing momentarily over to him. "Hm? Read any good books lately? Been any place new?"

"You don't hafta be a dick about it," Sam muttered under his breath.

"I'm doing what you asked me. I'm engaging in conversation!"

"Just _forget it_." Sam crossed his arms over his chest, glaring out his window. He didn't really want him to forget it. He would take bickering over the empty silence surrounding both his body and mind any day.

"What else can I say?" Dean asked quietly. Sam's head turned merely an inch in his direction. "You know what I'm thinking. Why do I need to say it?"

Sam quietly swallowed, keeping his gaze at the glistening glass beside him. "It's better than letting it fester. Better than thinking about it. Talking's slower than thinking."

Dean hummed with a small nod. A small silence passed. "She's gunna be fine." Despite his attempts to hide it, Sam could hear the small uncertainty under his otherwise stern words.

Sam snorted, leaning his head back against the headrest. "Do you actually think that?"

"Yeah," Dean answered, "I do." He turned his head over to Sam. He didn't reciprocate. "You read her note. She's been on her own before. How do you think she found us in the first place?"

"That doesn't make things better."

"It does. A little bit. She knows when to trust a good egg and when to say 'screw off' to a bad one. She'll be fine."

Sam snorted again, adjusting his crossed arms. "Then why do you sound so unsure?"

Dean bit the inside of his cheek. He shook his head, huffing out an irate puff of air as he squeezed his hands on the steering wheel. While the squeezing appeared to be a method to keeping his anger down, in reality it was to keep him grounded in the car, to keep him focused on something he knew was real and there.

He lowered his head for a moment, closing his eyes to keep the storm inside him distant and buried. He opened his eyes to the stretching black road in front of him, collecting a level breath.

"That look she gave. The one pointed at that monster. That's why."

Sam's brows dipped and gathered. He turned his head over to Dean, curiosity in one eye and knowing remorse in the other. Dean kept his eyes on the road.

"I have no idea what's goin' on in her skull. I have no idea. And that scares me, Sam." Sam's eyes drifted to his lap, remembering the very look Dean was worried about. "There was a time where I could tell you exactly how she'd react to something. How she'd go about doing a task. I watched her train, I-…"

Dean swallowed. Whether it was due to the lump in his throat or to calm the rising guilt, only he knew. He gained his voice back, forcefully vigorous and solemn. "I wanted to make her a good hunter. I wanted her to take care of herself. She needed it. No one can hold her hand through all this. Not even us."

As Dean's pause lingered, Sam dared to speak. "And yet that's what we've been doing."

Dean rubbed his fingers deep into his eye sockets. "I ruined her, Sam. She was fine before I trained her. I ruined her."

"Don't take the fall, Dean," Sam sighed. "Training her wasn't the problem. If I had just… stopped her from making that spell… she'd be trained _and_ right in the head. This's my fault, Dean. You aren't the screw up here."

Sam and Dean looked ahead of them, peering through the shimmering glass of the windshield. The air was dense with unvented blame.

"I don't know what to do, Sam," Dean muttered, voice small and quiet. "If we keep doing this to her she's… she's gunna get hurt. Hurt in a way dental floss and liquor can't fix. I keep pushing her and pushing her and you keep telling her she doesn't have to try so hard but she _does_ try hard and she can't pick a side she wants to lean on and then she puts in too much, goes too fast, plays too loose and…"

Dean massaged his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He huffed, releasing pent up remorse. "We want her to pick sides. But if she does that it'll split her in half. God, that's the real reason she left, isn't it? So she doesn't have to choose which of us to listen to?" Dean snapped his head angrily over to Sam. "Are we that big of a bag of dicks?"

Sam shrugged. "Sometimes, yeah."

"Geez, I see why you wanted to leave now," Dean mumbled.

Dean's words didn't go over Sam's head. The comment echoed inside Sam's skull over and over again. Dean only knew the surface of why he wanted to leave, but the underlying issue was still buried within him.

Sam closed his eyes. It was best to get everything out in the open while they were speaking to each other.

"Dean… one of the reasons I wanted to leave was…," Sam licked his dry lips to break from his hesitance. Dean turned his head to look at his brother. "I was jealous. Of how close you were to Frankie. Before I left, you couldn't stand her. But when I got back… it was like you'd known her for years." Sam didn't see Dean lower his head. "I was confused, to say the least. I couldn't understand what would make you take her under your wing. I didn't think you'd warm up to her so quickly. I _had_ thought that maybe you just needed to make sense of something. Even if that something was her."

Sam uncrossed his arms and slid his hands over his legs, stopping when his fingers reached his knees. "But seeing how you two act now… er, before the whole… our whole…," he cleared his throat as Dean straighten his back, sighing. "I can see you actually care for her. She's not just some added weight. A responsibility. And I guess that makes me jealous."

Sam ended his confession there, not because he had made his point, but because he just couldn't bring himself to speak in the uncomfortable air of Dean's silence. He closed his eyes and stifled a sigh. What was he thinking, admitting he was jealous of their newfound sister? That was just sad. He should've kept it deep inside him like the images of Frankie's possible deaths.

"Why?"

Sam opened his eyes and pointed them at his brother. Dean was stoically gazing out the windshield, looking as if he hadn't said anything at all. But Sam heard him clear as day. He parted his lips, carefully considering his words before revealing them.

"Well it's like you said. She had yet to disappoint you. And I've disappointed you more times than any normal person should. She's a good kid. That's more than can be said about me."

Sam gazed down to his hands. His fingers curled into loose fists over his knees. He really was pathetic. He was an accomplished hunter, expert survivalist, and self-proclaimed badass and he had the gall to say he was jealous of his little sister? That just sounded sad, but he truly was envious of her and her relationship with Dean. He messed up too many times for redemption, and that was why no matter what Frankie did – be it running away or consorting with witches – she'd always be step up from him.

"Do you know why I warmed up to Frankie so quickly?" Sam turned his attention to Dean. He was silent, but shook his head as his answer. Dean turned his head and met Sam's gaze, a resilient glint in his eye. "She reminded me of you."

Sam's brows narrowed as he lightly cocked his head. "Me?"

Dean nodded his head, turning it back to the road. "You. Sam, all these years of heavy crap have changed us both. We've grown out of the little kids we used to be. But I gotta tell ya, Sam, I miss the old you. I miss the old you a helluva lot." Sam was silent, eyes downcast. Dean briefly flicked his eyes over to see the disheartened gaze. "Don't take that like I hate the new you. Gotta be honest, I don't like it, but it's better than not havin' you around." Sam's features gathered a brighter tint that faded soon after its birth.

"Frankie reminds me of the old you. Hopeful, determined, eager to please, made _me_ feel like a better person. Sometimes whiney. Okay, take that back, _very_ whiney." Sam's chuckle was short and quiet. Dean's voice softened, gaining a fragile tone. "I let you down, Sam. All those years ago."

"What? No you didn't."

"Yeah, Sam, I really did. I cared more about being a good son than a good brother. And because of that I-…" Sam's chest tightened as the broken side to Dean, the one he always tried so hard to hide, surfaced. He violently cleared his throat, trying to bury it once more. "I lost that side of you. I never thought I'd get it back." He lifted his gaze ahead of him, blinking a few times to dry his glossy eyes. "But I did. In Frankie. And Sam… I don't wanna lose that again. But I _am_ losing it. Because I'm such a _goddamn_ idiot."

Dean smacked the steering wheel and leaned back into his seat with a huff. He shook his head in silence, refusing to talk for a few stretching moments. "This's my fault," he finally spoke. "And I'm not failing you again. _Her_! I-I'm not failing _her_ …" Sam swallowed through his constricting throat. Dean sniffed as he rubbed his face. "Everything'll be fine when we get her back. Just… everything'll be fine then."

Those words acted more as a mantra than a factual statement. Sam soon found himself repeating that mantra in his head as he gazed wordlessly out the window.

* * *

The wall had a picture on it. A cowboy stood in the center on horseback. His hat was tipped low so as to not see his face. Why wouldn't he want his face shown? Was he ugly? Did he have a harelip? Was his skin white and flaky? Or was he just sad and wanted to hide his emotions? That wouldn't be too hard to understand.

Why was he sad? Did he come in last place at the rodeo? Was his horse sick? Was his brother disgraced for sleeping with another gal? Was his barn auctioned off? Were his wife and kids killed in a freak rodeo clown incident? Poor cowboy. Hit with such a string of bad luck. He deserved better.

Frankie fell back on the bed with a huff. Was she really that bored? Coming up with stories for the decorations in a motel room and feeling sympathy for said decorations? God, she really was messed up in the head.

She lay on her back, gazing up to the ceiling with tired eyes. Her mouth stretched wide open as a noisy yawn battled its way out of her lungs. It had been a long day. She hitched a ride out of Montana from a nice middle aged woman slathered in tattoos. She was kind enough to explain a few of them, but Frankie only half-listened to her. It was rude, sure, but her mind drifted elsewhere, into unpleasant thoughts.

The rest of the day was mostly uneventful. She found a motel, inconspicuous enough, and settled in. She shook off her shoes, tossed her bag into a chair, put on her PJs, and turned on some bad TV, which wasn't hard to find with the limited amount of channels on the old, static-ridden thing.

After a few hours of constant use, the screen had tinted purple and it gave her a headache to look at it. Frankie shut it off and slouched on the mattress, surrounded by the unnerving hush in between the four walls. The roads outside were barren. Not a single car passed by the window since she'd entered the room. Her neighbors were uncharacteristically noiseless. The rain that had lasted for hours finally let up, leaving the outside world in a still quietness. Not even the lightly blowing air conditioner made a noticeable sound.

Such an atmosphere was great for thinking and letting the brain stretch and exercise. One might like to read at this time, or maybe even pursue self-discovery. But not Frankie.

The quiet comfort of the shabby motel room was a breeding ground for bad thoughts. If she let her mind wander, just for a moment, thoughts of her brothers and Bobby stood in the spotlight in her brain. Sam looked unsurprised. Dean looked furious. Bobby didn't look at all, too displeased with her to even give her a glance.

But Dean's glower was the worst. It was so vivid in her mind. Her brain painted a clear imagine of Dean upon hearing of her sold soul. His brows dug deep into his face, reaching desperately for his nose. His lips were scrunched to hold in the roof shaking reprimand on his tongue. His face showed ferocity, but his eyes – god, his eyes – held such a shining image of disappointment, so much that those eyes appeared to be glossy and wet with tears.

She made him cry. No, she couldn't have. That was Dean! He'd never cry! She could never make him cry! Not even by selling her soul! Why would he cry?! Because he was disappointed in her? That was nothing! She'd always been a disappointment! He shouldn't be upset! God, Dean, stop crying! Please!

Frankie smacked her hands onto her face. She groaned loudly into her palms, the jarring noise getting louder and louder and louder until the bad thoughts were drowned out.

She needed to get out of the room.

Frankie rolled off the bed and landed face down onto the floor. She ignored the stench and odd dampness of the carpet and groaned into it, too. Her groan stretched and lingered until she had to force a breath into her empty lungs.

She lifted herself from the ground, spitting out strands of carpet, as she dressed herself in a casual tee shirt and jeans. She scrunched her hair into a shambolic updo, not caring if she looked like a ruffian, grabbed her wallet and headed out of the room.

* * *

She turned the corner to enter the next isle. This was the right one, it had to be. She darted her eyes over can after can, searching for the next – and biggest – item on her mental list. She stopped her cart to peer at a row of dented cans with similar generic labels. None of them were what she was looking for and she groaned as she pushed against the slightly hefty cart.

Her eyes scanned the other side of the isle, feeling helplessness stalk her. It wasn't that big a deal, really. She could live without it. It would be fine if she couldn't find it. Really!

But if she didn't, she'd be really, really… no, she didn't want to say disappointed. _No one_ should be disappointed. Ever. And no one should cry over being disappointed, that was for sure.

She squeezed her eyes shut to try and shut her head up. It was being particularly annoying since she entered the grocery store. She reopened her eyes and continued shopping.

Of course she could just skip it. The less, the better. It _was_ pretty fatty and she needed to keep a healthy lifestyle if she was going to be on the road. She ignored the pull to stare judgingly down at the three boxes of fudge cookies in her cart.

The end of the isle was nearing. She took in a calming breath. It would be fine if the small town grocery market didn't have what she was looking for. It would be _fine_. She'd get through the night. It wasn't going to ruin anything if she couldn't find one simple can of Spam. She'd live. She would live if she couldn't find the one thing she came to the store for. She'd be okay if she messed up yet again. She'd survive if she left the store completely disappointed with tears in her goddamn eyes because they didn't' have her fucking Spam!

Frankie's cheeks, red with frustration, softened once her eyes landed on the familiar label of the canned meat she was looking for. Her feet stalled, her gaze unyielding.

She thought about her inner conflict. Her face now turned red in embarrassment. She was far too exhausted for her own good.

She hadn't slept since the night before she took off. That had been nearly seventy hours ago. Her mind hadn't been acting right since. She really needed sleep, but being on the run, hopping from town to town in the cars of strangers, wasn't the best situation to sleep through. She had to keep her guard up for her brothers, angels (aside from Castiel checking in on her at night), demons, and frisky truckers _glad_ to give her a ride into town.

She had to sleep with one eye open, which wasn't sleeping at all. Not that she could anyway. When the sun descended and the headlights of cars danced across the dark walls of the motel rooms, the bad thoughts came out to play. Worries of bloody deaths, angry brothers, dead family members, and her future haunted her from 1am to 4. After that, it was time to move or else Sam and Dean would catch up to her.

Frankie rubbed her eyes with her palm as she steered the cart to the refrigerated section of the store. She nearly bumped into a woman with a child in her own cart. She mumbled a half-assed apology, only slightly sure of the woman actually having been there.

The cold emanating from the freezers cooled her heated cheeks. Her eyes fluttered closed, savoring the few lengthy seconds of blank nothingness her mind was met with. She may have been smiling.

A huge clatter jerked her out of her momentary trance. She snapped her fervent eyes open, hand reaching to the back of her shirt for her machete. She stilled when it wasn't there. Before she could fully wonder why, she remembered that she was in a store and didn't need her largest weapon.

' _Which is stupid. What if a demon traps me in here? Fucking goofball, Frankie.'_

She found the source of the clatter: her own damn cart. It had swerved into the side of the freezer when her eyes were closed. She looked over her shoulder, hoping no one saw her awkward scene.

She forced her head forward, wanting to just walk it off, when she noticed what was in the freezer she hit.

Alcohol. Her fuzzy brain brightened a little at the image of dark liquid in darker glass bottles. God, if she needed it ever in her life it was right then and there. She filled her cart with a full case of beer. She was tempted to get a second one – after all, alcohol did put her to sleep if she drank enough – but she had to watch her funds.

She checked out of the store with three heavy bags of groceries and one large case of beer. She grunted as she hoisted one bag on each arm, held the case in both hands, and balanced the third bag on top of it. It was a heavy weight to carry all the way back to the motel, but she pretended it was another exercise to impress Dean. It was just enough to motivate her into trudging the sidewalk with burning arms and a sweaty upper lip.

She could barely see ahead of her, and the bags needed one hell of an adjustment, but she didn't stop. The faster she got to the room, the faster she could drown herself in liquor and pass out.

"Hello, Frankie."

The sudden familiar voice from beside her caused her to jolt. She lost her grip on the beer case, but caught it with a searing pain in her biceps just before losing hold of it. She grit her teeth together with a growl as she straightened her back and tossed it in her arms to regain her grip.

"Would you _please_ wear a goddamn bell?" she snarled at the angel. She pressed on, not having any spare energy to glance his way. "Jesus," she mumbled under her breath.

"Did I startle you?" he asked, voice composed yet gentle.

"You think?" the girl spat, picking up her pace. She didn't particularly want to get away from the angel. She just wanted to be at the motel sooner and have him clock out for the night.

So… yeah, in a way she wanted him out of her ass.

"I'm sorry. It was not my intention."

"No," Frankie sighed quietly. "It never is." She tried to tighten her slipping grip on the beer case, flicking her eyes momentarily to Castiel. "Why're you popping in on me out in the open? You know someone can see you."

Even though she continued to quicken her pace, Castiel matched it with ease. "I visited your current motel room. You weren't there, so I looked for you. I found you leaving the grocery store and tried to approach you in a less startling way." Frankie scoffed at his attempt of an unstartling approach. "I'll be sure to work on my next entrance."

"You thought I'd be strapped to a chair or locked in some sorta cage, didja?"

Castiel glanced over to her with a staid air about him. "Surely you can understand my concerns." Frankie quirked a brow and hummed.

The sweat from her hands coated the case of beer, causing her fingers to slip from the box. She stopped her quick pace, Castiel mirroring her, as she brought a knee up to push the box back into a firm grip. Despite it being back in a decent hold, however, her arms stung from the continuous weight. The bags at her elbows were beginning to cut off her circulation, but she refused to wimp out. Dean wouldn't be proud of that.

Castiel noticed her struggling. "Here," he said, reaching for the box, "let me help you."

"No," Frankie hissed, jerking the box away from him, knocking her slightly off balance in doing so. Castiel looked down at her with a curious, scrutinizing gaze. For some reason, that inquisitive look pissed her off. "I got it," she venomously growled. She turned back towards the motel and kept walking, her pace slower than before. "So, you found me. Now what? You ask me how I am, if I'm feeling peachy? Take off and leave me all alone when you've done your duty?"

Castiel narrowed his brows, but he didn't look down at the girl. "I actually planned to walk you back to you room. The streets at night are very dangerous."

"Ah," Frankie hummed, nodding her head behind the translucent plastic bag. "So you're my bodyguard, huh? Don't know if I should be flattered or insulted."

As soon as she spoke the final word, the unmistakable honk of a car horn blared right next to her, sounding as if it was right at her side. She sucked in a sharp breath. A fleeting feeling, a faded memory in the form of a terrified bubbling gut, jolted inside her as a car sped towards her.

Before she could stand motionless in the middle of the road, doe-eyed, the collar of her shirt was yanked back, bringing her with it. Her feet scampered back onto the sidewalk, her breath coming out in horrified gasps, as the car honked a few more times in protest of the unaware pedestrian.

Her wide eyes saw nothing but the plastic bag an inch from her face, but it was quickly replaced by Castiel's frustrated stare when he removed the case of beer from her grasp.

"You should be grateful," he corrected, his eyes set in a soft scold.

Frankie gulped, coming down from her fearful episode. She muttered a quiet, "Thanks," as she followed behind the angel to her motel room. She glanced down at the road she was nearly mowed down on as she walked over it. A shiver went up her spine.

Something deep inside her whispered, _'Not again… not again…'_

She blinked with an anxious sigh. She really needed to break into that beer. To… get some sleep. Yeah. Sleep. That sounded nice, too.

* * *

She sat on the edge of the bathtub as the showerhead sprinkled down an artificial rain onto her hunched over body. Her head hung low from her shoulders. The pattering of the water on the back of her head soothed the throbbing headache that surged in her skull.

The water was hot. She was grateful for that. The motel she was at the night before had no hot water. She had to stumble through the day with oily hair and the wretched stench of onions following her around. She didn't have to try hard to pass as a regular junkie prowling around on the streets.

Frankie's eyes cracked open. Water droplets slid off of her eyelashes and plummeted down onto the fiberglass floor of the tub. The third motel tub she'd seen since she separated from her family. This one was the least gross. She couldn't see that tub being blocked off with police tape like she could with the others.

The hot shower was a relaxing luxury. It was amazing how much she took a nice warm wash for granted. Now it was the only thing holding her fatigued mind together.

Getting drunk had the opposite effect on her than she hoped. Her head got absolutely pickled just like she wanted, but sitting alone in a dark, quiet motel room – _alone_ – threw her fragile psyche through a loop. The crushing realization that she was completely on her own engulfed her. She was in a dark hole, no walls to claw at. She couldn't escape, and she was scared. Terrified. She had curled up in a ball on the floor, hot tears melting into the carpet until the sun came up. Once the birds were chirping outside the window, she uncoiled from her frightened ball, head ringing with a juvenile hangover.

She was still running on zero sleep, only now she felt like her skin was hanging loose on her bones. Her mind was in a state of complete disarray, and her appearance wasn't far behind. Her hair had been firm and fraying like straw and her shirt grew dark spots on her armpits, back, and underneath her breasts from the intense sweat she had constantly found herself in. Her disheveled appearance made it more difficult to hail a ride. She finally found a decent motel around sunset. She dove straight for the shower.

The only thing keeping her together – other than showering – was her nightly visits from Castiel. After hours of fretting over the utter uncertainty of what was around the next corner or who – or what – could be tracking her down, having something to expect at the end of the day made things seem a little less terrifyingly erratic.

The visits themselves were nothing special. The angel showed up, asked how she was, asked if she needed anything for the night, and then flew off. It was the same thing each night. Sure, there was that more exciting moment where he saved her from yet another vehicular injury – she shuddered at the foggy memory that arose in her mind – but they were mostly predictably bland. Nonetheless, she welcomed the visits from him. It meant social interaction from someone who wasn't a complete stranger giving her a ride to the next town over.

Frankie mechanically went through the rest of her shower and stepped out when she didn't smell like the changing room at a gym. She wrapped a towel around her body and twisted her hair into another one.

She lifted her head to the mirror covered in fog. She brought a hand to the glass and wiped away the smog to see her reflection. Her breath caught in her throat at the dark rings around her eyes. She looked sick. Ugly and sick. Her skin was pale. That was cause for alarm considering she just stepped out of a hot shower. She was sure that her cheeks were still full and round, but her mind had been playing tricks on her all day so there was no telling whether she was actually seeing a gauntness to her face or not.

She felt ill just looking at her face. _'Ignore it and it'll go away. Ignore it and forget it,'_ she chanted in her head. That was the only way to end the panicked worry that arose from every sign of illness.

She stepped out of the bathroom and over to her bag. She sifted through all her clothes but each garment brought a frown to her face. They were all filthy. She would need to find a laundromat soon, but it'd just slow her down. Eh, she could live with dirty clothes.

She took out a smelly bra, a stained tank top, crumpled panties, and a wrinkled pair of shorts. She sighed helplessly down at the clothes. Had she been at Bobby's not a single article of clothing wouldn't be clean, ironed, and nicely folded in a dry dresser. But she wasn't at Bobby's. She wasn't at home.

She shook her head, shooing away the bad thoughts, and started dressing herself.

A knock on the door startled her. Who the hell was visiting her? Was it Sam? Dean? A demon? An angel?! _Lucifer_?!

Before she could stumble over to the peephole, the door opened and in walked Castiel with a satisfied look on his face.

"Geez, Castiel!" Frankie screeched, grabbing the first piece of clothing she could and shielded her towel-covered chest with it. That garment just so happened to be her bra. She threw it back on the bed like it was covered with muck and snatched her shirt instead. "What the- why would- just-just get out! Go outside! Wait behind the door!" Castiel stood frozen like a deer in headlights, completely oblivious to what he did wrong. "Go!" the girl shouted, sending him back outside and behind the door.

Frankie held a hand to her chest and took a breath. She couldn't keep nearly having heart attacks whenever he decided it was time to give her a checkup. She commenced changing her clothes, grumbling under her breath as she did so.

"Damn angel. Don't know shit 'bout privacy. Damn perv. Pervy angel dick." When she was dressed, she faced the door while drying her damp hair with a towel. "Okay! You can come in now!" she announced. Castiel sheepishly reentered and stood in the middle of the room. Frankie leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. "Well, well, well. Walking in on a lady while she's in nothing but a towel. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Castiel shuffled timidly, searching for the right response to something he wasn't sure he did. "I'm very sorry."

"Yes. Yes you are." Frankie pushed off the wall and stepped towards the angel. "I'm human, Castiel. I have needs that may be inappropriate to walk in on." She paused. "That came out… Look, from now on please knock on the door before coming into my room. Can you do that?"

Castiel nodded his head, now catching up to what was going on. "Yes. I'm sorry I offended you."

Frankie opened her mouth to correct him. She wasn't offended. She understood that angels were like talking animals. They didn't always understand humans and what they did. She didn't say anything, though, deeming it easier to not confuse him further. "Fine. It's fine. So, what? You come to check on me?"

"Yes," he nodded. "How are you?"

Frankie falsely smiled, sitting down on the bed. "Fine. Like I was yesterday. Like the day before that. Like I'll be tomorrow."

While she welcomed the visits, she was tired of hearing the question 'how are you' over and over again. She wasn't fine. She didn't look fine and it was very obvious that she was miserable. Any idiot could sense that. Even Castiel sensed it. She could tell by the way he looked at her like a sick animal. She knew it was probably him being polite, but she wished he'd just stop trying so hard to seem like he actually cared.

"Alright. Do you need anything?"

There it was. He asked how she was doing and then it was onto Act II: Departure.

"No. Thanks," she grumbled. She waited for the final 'Goodnight, Frankie' that came last, but it didn't come immediately like it had every other night. Her brows furrowed as she waited even longer for his rough voice.

"You look awful."

Her brows shot up. She whipped her head up to the angel. His eyebrows craned over his eyes, pupils filled with concern. To see any clear emotion on his face was unsettling enough.

"You're such a charmer," she deadpanned.

He sighed to himself. "Forgive my wording. You don't look very healthy. You look…"

"Tired."

"Yes."

"Exhausted, inside and out."

"Yes."

Frankie shook her head. "I could say the same thing about you." He bristled at the comment. That seemed to touch a sensitive spot within him. She pressed her lips together as she scanned his face, taking in all the obvious traces of fatigue. "Yeah, I've noticed how tired you look. I'm no expert on angels, but I don't think they're supposed to get tired. How are _you_ , Castiel? Do _you_ need anything?"

The angel flicked his eyes into hers. She tried for a sympathetic gaze. She felt sympathy for him, but her heavy bags and sullen face may not send that exact message.

Castiel had a look in his eye, one she hadn't seen before. There was hesitance and fragility. He never looked fragile. He always looked so composed, so perfunctory. Now he looked… human.

"I'm fine," he answered plainly. Frankie scoffed. She lied way too much to not notice it.

"No you're not."

He straightened his back, forcing a stone cold gaze onto his face. It struck a dark feeling in her gut. It looked too much like Zachariah's. "I am. Goodnight, Frankie." He disappeared before she could utter a single syllable in protest.

She raked her fingers through her damp hair with a heavy-laden sigh. She pointed her eyes out the window, gazing into the dark sky. "Night."


	32. Chapter 31 - Lost

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry the next chapter is taking so long. I just started an internship and the hours are crazy. I'm finding little intervals of time to write, so it IS coming. You guys have been so patient and I thank each and every one of you. I think you're gonna like the next couple chapters, though. I've been dying to get to them since I first put this story to paper. Er... Microsoft Word. Please give me a little more time and I'll get it out as soon as I finish. See y'all soon!**

* * *

Frankie clutched a beer bottle in her hand as she sat sullenly at the small in-room table. She stared blankly ahead for miles. She didn't think more alcohol was such a good idea, but after her incident at the gas station, she couldn't give a damn.

She had purchased a few more snacks and another – smaller – case of beer for the road. When she went to check out and handed the cashier the money, his eyes were black. Pitch black. All of the eye, not just the pupils. Just like a demon.

She recoiled, reaching futilely for her machete as a panicked yelp erupted from her throat. After a few blinks, though, the black eyes were no more. In their place was an annoyed and confused glare from the college aged man.

"Lay off the sauce, lady," he arrogantly muttered. She gathered her things and left the store as fast as she could.

Her exhaustion was getting out of hand. Now she was hallucinating the very things she feared would find her. She was losing herself. Hell, she was already lost.

She returned to the bottle, hoping to alleviate at least some of the worry that ate away at her. But she began to feel it again. That loneliness creeping up her spine. Her mind rooted back to the dark motel room, looking around and searching for another presence within the bleak, gray walls.

She was alone. By herself in the isolated motel. No one around to see her, no one around to know she existed. Where was everybody? God, where was everybody?!

' _Calm down, Frankie. Calm down, girl. You're okay. Get ahold of yourself. You can… you'll be fine. You'll be okay.'_

Her attempts at comforting herself failed. Her heart pounded in her chest and her head spun around the room. She was on a rocking boat on rough seas, only that boat was sinking.

The door loudly knocked. She squeaked, holding her half empty bottle close to her chest for some twisted form of comfort. The same panic prickled her skin at who could be behind the door.

"Who's it?!" she shouted, her voice coming out in a dazed slur.

"Um, Castiel."

Frankie's straightened in her seat, a bright smile bleeding onto her face. Comfort! At last! "Come-Come in! Come on in!" she eagerly announced. The door opened and the familiar trench coat fluttered in behind her angelic bodyguard. "Ah! There he is! My ever imposing babysitter." Frankie slouched comfortably against her seat, hanging her free arm over the back of the chair with a lax grin. She pointed her eyes out to the inky blackness of the night sky. "A little late for a checkup, eh?"

Castiel walked further into the room, standing in front of the drunken girl. "I'm sorry for being late. I was with your brothers."

Her warped smile plummeted. The mention of Sam and Dean snuffed out the light that flicked on when the angel entered the room. Damn them. "Mm, and how _are_ my darlin' brothers? Fighting as usual?" she asked with a grimace, bringing her bottle to her lips.

"No," Castiel sighed, sounding almost as surprised as Frankie felt at the news. "It seems as though searching for you is the only thing they collaborate on."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Oh goody. Well the next time you see 'em tell 'em t' fuck off. 'M not goin' back with 'em. Tell Sam he's a pathetic, whiney boob, and tell Dean he's-he's an arrogant _chode_!" She giddily giggled against the throat of the bottle at her genius insults.

Castiel glanced at the table, noticing the several empty glass bottles perched on top. "You've been drinking."

"Since I was twelve," Frankie nodded with a sloppy smirk. She propped her legs up on the table, knocking a few of the bottles to the floor. "What brings ya here, friend?"

Castiel glanced around the rest of the room with stern eyes. Clothes were thrown all over the place, food wrappers peppered the carpet, and there was a mysterious fresh stain on one of the walls. "I've come to check on you," he idly answered, stepping over shirts and pants strewn about.

Frankie's grin once again fell. He was all business wasn't he? Stupid hoe. "Ah. 'S right. I forget. 'M your _responsibility_. Here I was thinkin' I could yank a good time outta you."

Castiel turned his head over to her, tilting his head with a confused stare. "You're referring to… intoxication?"

Frankie's head rolled along with her eyes. "'M 'ferrin' t' some fun! Good God, m' life sucks! Drinkin's the only thing regulatin' m' dopamine!"

The room grew quiet. Frankie let out an airy blech as Castiel gazed baffled down at the drunken girl. Even in her boiled state, Frankie could see the discomfort painted on his bemused features.

"Well…," he uttered after the long silence. He cleared his throat as he began turning towards the door. "I can see you're alright. I must be-"

"U-Uh… wait." Panic flared in Frankie. She didn't want him to leave. She didn't want to be alone. "You wouldn't wanna… dunno… stay for a bit? Just t' talk or somethin'?"

"Um…" Castiel was clearly weirded out by the inebriated state of the girl. He seemed discomfited enough with her tired ass tossing attitude his way. This was no doubt unnervingly alien to him.

Frankie set her jaw as she raised a hand. "You gotta get back to God. I get it. Go." Hopelessness set in when she realized her loneliness was waiting just behind the door. "See ya tomorrow."

She downed the last bit of her beer and took another out of the box. She popped the cap open in one swift twist. A bent piece of metal on the cap sliced a bit of her hand when she opened the bottle, but she was either completely oblivious or just didn't give a fuck.

Why would she? She was alone again. No one was around to know if she died of exhaustion. Not like anyone would care anyway.

"I suppose…," Frankie jolted, forgetting that he hadn't left yet, "inebriation is a health risk. I can't leave you alone without knowing you won't harm yourself."

Frankie twisted her head back over to the angel. He wasn't leaving after all! Her excitement sparked like a fork in an outlet as she reached for another bottle and threw it over to him. "Catch!" she shouted as it soared through the air.

It hit the wall a good ten feet away from him. They stared at the dark liquid trickling down to the floor, the mark left behind looking very similar to the other fresh stain. Feeling a weight of defeat, Frankie unveiled another bottle, but simply held it out to the angel. He stepped forward and took it from her.

He sat down in the other chair at the table. "You understand I can't become intoxicated on this. It would take an enormous amount of alcohol to become drunk."

Frankie lifted a brow at him as she finished her gulp of beer. "'S gotta suck. 'Ve never been drunk?"

"No."

"Ha! Lucky bastard. Never gotten shitfaced, never been hungover… never needin' to get drunk…" Frankie shook her head, lifting the bottle to her mouth again. "Lucky… lucky bastard." Frankie flicked her eyes over to the angel. He looked very uneasy, as if he was completely out of his element. He hadn't even opened his bottle yet. Frankie cleared her throat and tried to lift the mood.

"So-so what's being an angel like? Is it, like, different usin' a vessel versus when you ain't? Can Jimmy hear me right now? Jim, what's bein' a vessel like?!" Frankie wildly waved her hand in front of Castiel's face to get the attention of their former prisoner. The angel grabbed her waving hand and stared down at her, eyes downcast.

"He can't hear you."

"Hey, you're an angel, right?"

Castiel's brows knitted together. "Uh… yes."

"Where're your wings? You got wings, right?"

"Yes. Humans aren't capable of perceiving their visage."

"Woah," Frankie eyes bulged in astonishment. "That's so cool! Can I touch 'em?" She reached out behind him, flailing her hand in midair behind his back. "How's this work? Can you feel me doin' this?"

When her fingers swept against his shoulder blades, he bristled and recoiled. "Please don't do that," he gruffly grumbled.

Frankie flinched at his severe tone. She must've upset him. Were wings, like, their private parts or something? Oh god, she must've molested him. She sank back into her chair. "Sorry. Didn't mean t' make you uncomfortable."

Castiel sighed. "You didn't. I'm not…," but he didn't have an excuse.

Frankie's eyes fell to her bottle. She held it tight in her fingers. "You can go now. 'M… 'm just bein' annoyin'." She lifted herself from the chair and walked away. "You can go."

"I told you I would stay."

"'Cause you're worried 'll hurt m'self. I want you t' stay if you wanna. Else it's awkward." Frankie tapped her fingers against the glass and clutched it to her chest, trying desperately to feel any sort of security.

Castiel spoke gentle and quiet. "Do you really want to be alone?"

Frankie stilled, blood and muscles freezing against the word. It was worse hearing it spoken aloud. She slowly set herself down onto the disheveled mattress, squeezing her bottle tighter.

"No. Never." Her eyes were wide, staring at something miles away. "I didn't wanna leave. I mean, what if- what if I die out here? What if I get mugged n' left for dead? Or 'm a victim of a drive by shootin'?! What if a demon wishes me dead instead of useful?! Who'd be there for me?!" She shook her head, eyes filling with panicked tears. "Who'd be there for me?! I'd have no one with me, Cas'el! I'd be alone!"

Frankie dropped her bottle, staining the carpet with dark liquid. She held her head in her hands, slightly rocking back and forth. Her breathing picked up into short, shallow breaths at the thought of how alone she was. She had no mother, no father, no uncles or aunts or cousins, no brothers, no friends. She was _alone_ on a sinking ship called Earth.

"You'd have me."

She felt the bed dip. She stopped rocking to glance next to her. Castiel sat beside her, looking down at her with eyes twinkling in the soft moonlight seeping in through the window. He looked like he had the night before, all human and shit. His eyes weren't angelic. They were soft and kind. The crystalline blue hue filled her with a soothing wave, like a cleansing sea. Her rapid breathing turned into no breathing at all.

"I'm going to look after you, Frankie. Nothing will happen under my watch. You're to be protected, and while some angels refuse to acknowledge that responsibility, I will do whatever it takes to protect you. I promise."

With every word that spilled from his lips, Frankie chest tightened, her throat constricted. Her hands began to tremble as her vision blurred with tears. Her tight throat squeezed out a frail noise before her cheeks moistened with tears.

Castiel's comforting eyes hardened with worry. He leaned away, afraid to be too close to the crying girl. "I… I'm sorry. Did I upset you? I'm not very good at-"

Frankie leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the angel, holding him tight against her. It was more comforting than the bottle was.

"No. N-No you didn't. Thank you, Cas'el. _Thank_ you." She leaned all her weight on him as her eyes fluttered closed. She found herself sliding down his body and twisted her own onto her back, her head resting on his leg. She stared up at the angel. He stared back, perplexed by the strange position. "Why're you so good to me?" Frankie sighed.

The sympathetic sparkle in his eyes dimmed. He raised his head, looking at the wall. "I'm not very good. I've allowed you to be harmed many times. One of those times was from my own hand."

Frankie blinked away from his face, pointing her faraway gaze to the ceiling. "Y'know, protection is one of the reasons I left Sam n' Dean. They tried so hard to force it. Like the planet would turn to mush if I died. Dean urged me to protect myself n'… n' Sam wanted me to sit n' stay. Just like that." She flicked her eyes back to him. "But you… why are you trying so hard to push my protection? Take away th' apocalypse, take away Heaven. Would you still give me th' time of day?"

Castiel was as still as a stature for a few moments, thinking over her question. Frankie began feeling a dark chill creep up on her, hoping the answer wasn't 'no.'

"Yes."

"Bullshit," she immediately sighed. "Why would you?" Castiel glanced down at her, and she felt pinned by his unnaturally blue eyes.

"For Dean."

Frankie blinked, her brows narrowing. "For… Dean?"

"Your brother cares a great deal for you. I've wronged him as of recent times. Caring for you would bring him peace of mind."

Frankie didn't understand why she felt disappointed by his answer. "Yeah. S'pose that makes sense."

"And I suppose I pity you. I am familiar with making haste mistakes and questionable decisions. I understand the weight they bear. Perhaps that could offer you peace of mind."

Frankie snorted out a chuckle. "It does make me a li'l relived." She turned her head towards the wall, pressing her cheek against his thigh.

That dark chill encased her, reminding her of everything that she'd worried over the past few days. She scrunched her shoulders up as thoughts of Castiel and his efforts came to mind.

"Cas'el?"

"Yes?"

Frankie swallowed to wet her dry throat. "God isn't gunna help me is he?"

She saw him look down at her in the corner of her eye. "Why wouldn't He?"

She shrugged. "Kinda an abomination."

"No. Sam is an abomination." What an odd, truthful thing to say. "You are just a girl that often finds herself in a position of peril, be that from an adversary or herself."

Frankie chuckled. Yeah, that sounded like her. She flicked her eyes to the side, glancing up at Castiel with a small smirk. She lifted herself from his lap and turned her body to him. "And what does that make you?"

Castiel's head lowered, a dim look in his eyes. "A fallen angel. A traitor."

Frankie's smirk fell, a frown pulling at her lips. She scooted closer to him. She nudged his shoulder with her own. "I'll take a fallen angel over any other. If you're what passes as an angelic disgrace, then I can't see a thing wrong 'th it."

A puny smile found itself on Castiel's lips. Frankie regained her smile at the sight of it. "Let's hope God shares a similar opinion."

"N' if he don't? Fuck 'im. We can do this without 'im."

Castiel shook his head, lifting it to look at the girl with a knowing glance. "You don't mean that."

"No, I do. I don't know how, but I believe there's a way to do this without his help. We just haven't found it yet. Maybe th' answers me."

Castiel quirked a brow. "You believe _you_ could stop the apocalypse?"

Frankie held her chin high as she lightly swayed. "'F I can sell m' soul to a demon n' have an angel understand why, anythin's fuckin' possible."

Castiel puffed out a smallest chuckle. Frankie chuckled along with him, louder. "I admire your optimism."

Frankie hummed and laid her head on his shoulder, both staring at the wall ahead of them. "I've always said optimism's givin' up without knowin' it yet."

"Well, let's hope you never realize your resignation. Optimism is our greatest tool."

"Says you. You really think that?"

"It was optimism that played an important role in trusting Dean. In believing in him."

Frankie tilted her head on his shoulder, blinking up to his distant eyes. "You two're great pals, huh?"

Castiel was quiet for too long a moment. "Yes."

"So… why'd you choose Heaven over him?"

He stiffened, seemingly raw from his previous position with Heaven. "I wasn't left a choice. It was either realignment or death."

"Mm. N' then you changed your mind?"

"I was reminded of what was truly important to me." He flicked his eyes down into her own. "Thanks to you."

Frankie stupidly grinned at the compliment. "C'mon. I didn't do shit. Just yelled at you for a bit n' punched you in th' face."

"I did knock some sense into me."

Frankie swished words around in her mouth, considering them before blurting them out. "Didn't hurt did it?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Damn. Least I can say I socked an angel."

Frankie sighed while adjusting her head on his shoulder and leaned her body against him. She was glad he decided to stay for a while. He made the night a lot less terrifying. And they had a real nice talk. Maybe after all the crap settled they could be friends. Like he and Dean. That would be nice.

Her eyes drifted closed, a smile on her face.

To have a friend. That'd be nice. Real nice…

"Well, as long as you're in a better mood," Castiel's voice jostled her from an almost slumber. She perked up as he lifted himself from the bed. "I won't bother you much longer."

"You're not a bother."

"I should let you rest." He gazed hard at the empty bottles scattered across the room. "And I would advise you to take it easy on your new kidneys."

Frankie held words behind her lips. She didn't think she'd be asking much, but she'd already asked so much of him. She tapped her fingers together, contemplating the pros and cons of asking him. She jumped at her opportunity when it looked like he would fly off.

"Cas'el. Would… would you stay with me? Just 'til I sleep- fall asleep? I don't wanna be alone."

God, she was pathetic. Asking him to watch over her while she slept? Now that was just creepy. She wouldn't be surprised if he grimaced and flew off right then and there. But… he was smiling. He was smiling?

"Of course," he answered, his voice soft and kind.

Frankie's stupid grin resurfaced. She nodded thankfully at him as she lay down on the mattress. "You won't leave 'til I'm snorin'?" She grabbed the blankets and covered herself, snuggling into the encasing warmth.

"I won't."

She heavily yawned. "Promise?" She was already slipping into a much needed slumber when Castiel's voice came in a faraway voice.

"I promise."

* * *

She'd been shot. She had to be. Her head was in unbelievable pain as a shrill ringing itched behind her eyeballs. She sent her hands to her face, jabbing fingers under her brows and into her temples.

Before she got too irrationally scared, she realized that it was just a hangover. A real _bad_ hangover. And what made it worse was the much too loud ringing of her cellphone. She pitifully moaned as she slapped her hand on the nightstand, blindingly searching for the damn device.

She felt the vibrations coming from the phone and squeezed it, quickly opening it and pressing the button to end the incessant ringing. She held it to her ear and groggily groaned into it.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Frankie."

She flinched and took the phone away from her ear when his voice shot a piercing pain behind her eyes. She held the phone an inch from her ear. "Jesus, man. Talk quieter, please. I'm having a bad morning." Frankie would've blinked in confusion had her eyes been open. "Are you talking on a phone? Where'd you get a phone?" She very carefully propped herself up on her elbow, gently cracking her eyes open and wincing at the brightness of the room. "How'd you get my number?"

"There is no time to answer. Sam and Dean are closing in on you."

The air was sucked from her lungs, her heart skipping a beat. The news sobered most of the pain in her head, replacing it with quickly brewing adrenaline. "How close?" she somberly asked, opening her eyelids all the way. She was too alarmed to care about her throbbing eyes.

"Very. I would estimate their arrival in less than two hours."

"Shit!" Frankie slowly sat up on the bed. He brought her free hand up to her forehead. All of the fears she had of them finding her started rushing back into her feeble body.

"Not to worry. I already have your next location set. It is secluded. They won't find you there."

Frankie jerked her head back. He'd never done that before. She appreciated it, but it was strange, to say the least. Maybe it had something to do with last night. She remembered a lot of it, but some of it was kind of hazy. She remembered him smiling. Her own lips began a slight curve upwards at the memory. If she could get an angel to smile, maybe she wasn't as big a bag of dicks as she thought.

"Okay, thanks. Where do I need to go?" She steadily stood up, glancing around for her many pieces of clothes strewn around the floor, but they weren't there. She narrowed her eyes. Did he… take her clothes?

Before she could assume something really gross, she found her clothes sloppily folded and shoved into her bag. He cleaned up for her. Her puny smile turned into a wide grin. She was starting to see how he and Dean turned out to be friends. He was a helpful fucker, that was for sure

"I will text you the address. Leave quickly. They mustn't find you."

Frankie stilled, brows creasing her forehead. Something was off about Castiel's voice. She didn't notice it at first, but it sounded a lot more robotic and rehearsed than usual. She should think nothing of it. He was a weird guy, always switching between being tired and fragile and being a composed little soldier.

She nodded her head, shoving the oddity to the back of her head. "Alright, neat. I'll see you there." He hung up the call. She removed the device from her ear and glared down at it. "What? No goodbye?"

It sounded like a joke coming from her lips, but it was a genuine curiosity. Every interaction they'd had was ended with some form of goodbye from him. Maybe it was just because of the urgency. She didn't have time to dwell on small shit like that. Her brothers were on her ass!

She changed into a button up shirt and jeans and left the room as quickly as she could. Just as she started walking along the side of the road, her phone buzzed with the address of where Castiel wanted her to go. She picked up her pace, holding her thumb out to the road and waving anxiously for a ride.

* * *

"This where you wanted to go?" the pudgy old man asked her. She stared out the window with him at the location Castiel picked out. It was secluded, alright. And unkempt. And creepy. And suspicious as hell.

An abandoned factory. He wanted her to go to an abandoned factory for protection? And not just any abandoned factory; one with weird markings and symbols marked with red paint. She hoped it was paint. Who knows what kind of dangers there were inside! Insane hobos. Satanic worshippers. Poorly discarded used needles. Insane satanic hobo worshippers. _Tetanus_!

No. There had to be a mistake. She couldn't stay here. Maybe he gave her the wrong address.

"Um… no. I don't think so. Let me give my friend a call real quick. I'm so sorry. I think there's some kinda mistake." She pulled out her phone and flipped it open.

"Oh, no. I don't believe there is."

Frankie froze. The old man may have been quiet the whole ride over, but he sure as hell didn't use that hostile tone of voice. The address wasn't the only thing really wrong.

She glared over to him. He was scowling.

Scowling with black eyes.

Frankie gasped so hard that she began coughing. It was a damn demon, and she was sure she wasn't hallucinating this time.

She desperately fumbled for her machete at her feet. The old man reared a fist back and struck her cheek, hurling her into the passenger side door. Her head collided with the firm glass, filling her vision with the very color of the demon's eyes.

* * *

The back of her head throbbed in waves. Her throat crackled against the pain as she lifted her bobbing head, squeezing her eyes against the pressure behind her eyes. She blinked her blurry eyes open, gazing around at the alien surroundings.

She was in a disheveled building. The abandoned factory. Suddenly her memory caught up to her. She snapped her head from left to right, taking in the area around her. She was strapped to a chair, her arms tied around the armrests at her sides. Several feet to her right was the old man who drove her, no longer possessed by a demon if his panicking eyes told her anything. He had duct tape over his mouth and squirmed against his restraints.

"She lives!" Frankie's head whipped ahead of her. A woman stood in front of her wearing a cocky grin. She had long dark brown hair that descended down her shoulders in waves. She wore a purple blouse under a leather jacket. The air about her was pure arrogance and victory. "Another 'miracle', huh?"

Frankie blinked indifferently up at the woman, surprisingly keeping calm under the stressful situation. In all honestly, she was more stressed traveling from motel room to motel room all alone for a week than she was tied to a chair in an abandoned factory.

"Who the fuck are you?" she impassively asked.

"Give ya three guesses," the stranger giddily quipped.

Frankie rolled her eyes. She was pretty sure she didn't need the full three guesses. "Demon."

The woman blinked her eyes with a stretching smirk, her eye sockets being drowned in black. "Too simple."

Frankie groaned while drooping her head. "I don't fucking care. One of Crowley's friends?"

"Getting warmer," the demon sang.

Frankie flicked her gaze up to the demon with a sour glare plastered on her face, but she hesitated as she really took in the image of the bright smirk. It was familiar. She had seen it before. Or… at least seen her face before. Recently…

"Wait a minute. I do know you. You were there. The day Bobby got possessed. The day he…" Frankie finally realized who she was dealing with. She was the demon that led the mission to kill Sam and Dean!

Frankie saw red. She bore her teeth, a snarl ripping through her throat as she lunged for the demon. She was held back by the rope digging into her skin, but her jostling scooted her chair closer, little by little.

"You bitch! I'll rip your fucking heart out of your goddamn mouth!"

"Ooo, keep talkin' dirty. It's give me a _tingle_ ," the demon smugly retorted.

Frankie stopped trying to pounce out of her restraints when she couldn't feel her fingers anymore. She instead tried to pin the bitch to the wall with her primal glower. "You were gunna kill my family."

"Yup. Sure was." The demon stepped closer, shadowing Frankie with a sudden feeling that she should care more about her situation than she originally did. The demonic brunette squished her cheeks with one of her hands and pulled her closer. "But then this little _doll_ all of Hell's been chattin' about came along and put a stake in my plans." Frankie ripped her head out of the bitch's hand with a twist of her neck. "So take a guess who jumped on the bandwagon to hunt her down."

"The muffin man?" Frankie muttered.

"Close."

While she appeared unamused on the outside, Frankie knew there was no way the situation would end well without help. She prayed to Castiel for the help he oh-so craved to provide.

' _Castiel, I'm in trouble. Demons kidnapped me. They're holding me in an old, abandoned shoe factory in Utah. A town called Logan. It's along Bartlem Road. Please hurry. I'll try and stall her.'_

"What interest does Hell have with me anyway?" Frankie asked, trying to keep the ball rolling long enough for Castiel to show up and beat the demon's ass into the ground.

"Not much really. Well, it didn't until I found something _real_ interesting."

"Which is?"

The demon slinked her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans as she penetrated Frankie with her sinister gaze. "Tell me something, Frankford. Why's an angel following you around like a lost puppy?"

Frankie should've hidden her shock better. Her eyes had stilled, losing her barrier of indifference. Her mild twisting to try and loosen her bonds froze.

How did she know about Castiel? Had they been following them? This whole time, her fears were correct. The demons were always on her back, following just a few steps behind. She wouldn't be surprised if they had always been her drivers. Was this demon the middle aged woman with tattoos?

She was frozen, but she had to say something to hide her surprise. "A what?" she blurted, forcing an incredulous tone.

The demon shined her too white teeth down at her. Frankie could almost see her reflection in them. "Aw, you're so cute when you're playing dumb. Almost as cute as that lost puppy."

Frankie forced a scoff and shook her head. "I really have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, let me remind you then." She rounded an empty chair and turned it so that its back was facing Frankie. The demon straddled the chair, crossing her arms over the backrest. "For the past week a certain angel's been popping up every now and then. Every time with you. Gets a girl wondering why." Frankie involuntarily swallowed. "You gunna tell me why?" Frankie kept her mouth clamped, a venomous glower in her eyes. She wouldn't speak a word. She didn't negotiate with terrorists. That's not how they did it in Bama.

The demon inhaled a slow breath. "Okay," she said, exhaling. She rose from the chair and lazily strutted back over to Frankie. "Let's go at this from another angle." Before Frankie even saw her rear back, the demon struck her with the back of her hand. She was wearing a ring that cut her across her cheekbone. "Why's an angel following you?" the demon snarled.

Frankie bit back again the sting. "Go to hell."

"Just got back actually. Takin' a little vay-cay for a while."

Frankie saw the demon rear back her fist, but she was late to react. She landed a harsh blow right on Frankie's already battered nose. She cried out, her screams echoing up to the high ceiling of the open building. The sizzling pain spread across her face like shrapnel from an explosion. The backs of her eyelids were painted white. She dipped her head, shielding her beaten face.

The demon grabbed her cheeks again, this time squeezing much harder, and yanked her forward to look her in the eye. " _Who's_ the _angel_?" Frankie sank her teeth into the insides of her lips to keep her mouth shut. She wouldn't say a syllable. Castiel would be there soon. She just needed to wait for Castiel. The demon pushed her face away, standing up straight. "Stubborn. Me, too. I can do this all day."

Frankie licked at the foul mixture of snot and blood collected on her lips as she locked eyes with the bitch. "Better get comfy then."

The demon snickered as she walked over to the other side of Frankie chair, disappearing. Frankie let out quiet breaths resembling slow gasps, trying to let out the pent up pain burning behind her nose.

She was suddenly and quickly falling backwards. Just before hitting the floor, the leaning stopped. The demon tipped her chair back in a forty-five degree angle. Frankie craned her neck to see the upside-down image of the demons twistedly ecstatic grin. She held in her other hand a long iron crowbar. Frankie's eyes bulged.

The crowbar was raised over the demon face and swung like one might hit a spider with a rolled up newspaper. The metal rod smacked onto Frankie's ankle with brutal force, creating an echoing crack. Frankie howled to the broken light fixtures above her, shrieking again and again as the demon repeatedly hit her ankle with the crowbar.

"Why do you need an angel?!" the demon shouted in her face. Frankie couldn't hear her over the excruciating pain blistering every nerve ending in her leg.

The demon wasn't finished. She pushed the chair forward, righting it on all four legs. Frankie's foot hit the floor on impact, letting another agonizing scream breaking in her throat resonate in the acoustic room. The demon returned with a short, curved blade and sank it right into Frankie's shoulder. Ignoring her miserable squalling, the demon slashed downward. She shoved her face into Frankie's.

"Who's the angel?" Frankie whimpered against the pain, tears streaming down her cheeks and mixing with the blood and snot. The demon was beginning to grow impatient and jabbed her thumb into Frankie's open cut, twisting it again and again. Frankie's throat crackled with agonized groans. "Why's he staying in your motel room? Huh?"

Frankie heard that above all the other questions. She snapped her eyes up to the demon, a vulnerable glint in her eye. Had they listened in on their conversation?

She was too late to mask her weakness. The demon backed away, a satisfied look on her smug face. "Ah. Now we're gettin' somewhere." Frankie bared her snarling, blood-coated teeth at the bitch above her. The demon laughed and leaned down to taunt her. "Tell me, is he top or bottom?"

Frankie spat in the demon's face. A splattering of blood and mucus speckled her pale cheeks. She wiped away the spittle on her sleeve, an incensed look finally reaching her face.

"I was really hoping to linger on physical torment, but there's a much easier way to go about this, and your feathered friend is probably already on his way. Not that he can get in anyway." Frankie froze. What did she say? Of course he could get in. He was an angel! "Wha-…" The demon broke out into a fit of barking laughter. "Oh, you thought I _wouldn't_ ward this place against angels? Poor innocent, Frankford."

Frankie's eyes fluttered closed. She was tired of this hoe and her fucking smug face. "Ugh, just kill me and end this cycle of nonsensical stupidity before I do it myself."

The demon quirked a brow and let out a small incredulous chuckle, gesturing to her many tools of torture around her. "Stupidity?"

Frankie spat on the ground, momentarily ridding her mouth of the overwhelming iron taste. "It's stupid you think you'll get anything outta me. I ain't got nothin' to lose. I've already lost everything."

The arrogant smirk found the demon's face again. "Oh, just you wait. You got tons more to lose. I'll show you."

"Good luck."

"Thanks! But I don't need it."

Frankie braced herself for more blows, more crowbars, more knives, but they never came. Instead, something far worse descended upon her.

The demon jolted and opened her mouth wide, a huge black cloud of smoke pouring out of her body. It rose to the air, collecting in a humongous mass of demonic energy. The body of the possessed brunette collapsed lifelessly on the floor. Before Frankie could even think of caring about the innocent girl, the black cloud dove for her and flew into her mouth.

Frankie violently twitched in her chair, eyes bulging as her body was filled with the demon's true form. Her conscience began to feel far away and fuzzy as a separate being squeezed into every crevasse within her. She felt as if sand was being poured down her throat, filling her lungs and stomach and mind. As the cloud shrank and shrank above her, she could no longer feel her body. She was numb. Her mouth clamped shut when the last of the demon entered her.

She couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She wasn't even seeing like she once did. It was like looking through eyeglasses, not her real eyes. Artificial. Someone _else's_ eyes. She was no longer in control of her own body.

Her mouth moved without her say so. "My god." That was her voice. But it _wasn't_. "This is a real mess. I've possessed my fair share of sad saps, but _you_ ," the chuckle leaving her mouth was unlike any other that had ever filtered out of her throat. It was dark, sinister. _Evil_. "Landfills have been better put together than this dump."

Frankie's body couldn't be moved, but within her, her pure form, her _mind_ , it could. It could bump and shove and scratch at the inner walls of her psyche, something she had never been in before. She felt like a Russian nesting doll in her own skin, constantly jiggling against the walls of the bigger figurine.

"Scratching will get you nowhere. Might as well get comfy. Now, let's see what we can dig up in here."

Frankie could feel the demons twisting and raking within her to find whatever information it pleased. It was like the feeling when Castiel read her mind, but far, far worse. This was the 'bad touch' of mind reading. With Castiel, it was forceful, but in a stoppable way. She could fight against it or ask him to stop. She had almost no way to stop the demon's fingers. The only way to stand a chance was to concentrate and try to shove her memories deep, deep within her where the demon couldn't reach.

"So much fear. So much _guilt_. Lots and lots of dead innocents on your hands, eh? Guess you live up to the Winchester legacy." The demon yanked Frankie's arms up, easily ripping the rope from her wrists like it were string. She bent down to undo her ankles. "You're _way_ more like your brothers than you think. Let's explore them while I'm here."

Frankie tried harder to clear her mind. The demon wasn't making it easy. She was experienced in possessing people. She could take whatever she wanted. And she _was_.

"Dean. Aw, the strict mentor. You see him as the last true piece of family you've got on this big, blue marble. You're scared of disappointing him, but you already have. He just doesn't know it yet. You're afraid of what he'll think of you when he figures it all out. Boy, I would pay out the nose to see his face when he finds out about your deal with the King of the Crossroads."

Wait. King? The _king_ of the crossroads? She made a deal with the fucking monarchy of the soul selling world? How could this get any worse?!

"And little Sammy. You're afraid of _him_. As sweet as he tries to be, you think he's unpredictable and unstable. Not as much as yourself, though, right?"

' _Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you! You fucking bitch! I'm gunna cleave your fucking skull inn half!'_

"Ah, and there's another member of the sad family tree. This _Bobby Singer_. Yeah, I remember him. He's the closest thing you've got to a father." A cynical chuckle bubbled up from her chest. To feel the laugh vibrating against her own vocal chords was a new and unwelcomed feeling. "Oh, that's just sad. That _Dukes of Hazzard_ reject as a father figure? You really are a mess."

Something huge and dense hit the side of the building with great force, sending banging echoes across the large open space. The demon's prying fingers ceased, freezing to listen in on the continuous banging from outside of the factory.

Frankie would have gasped if she had the ability. It was Castiel coming to save her. It had to be. Nothing could make that big of an impact without breaking into the warded doors.

"Ah! So _that's_ the lost puppy."

' _Fuck!'_

" _Castiel_. Why's _Castiel_ following you around?"

' _Stop, stop, stop! Don't think about him! Don't give her what she wants!'_

Frankie lost her grip on her memories. The reverberating banging across the walls and the stress from giving away Castiel's name was making her lose her mind. And that mind was the demon's for taking.

"Hello… what's this?" Frankie reverted back to hammering against the inner walls of her own body to stop the demon from looking deeper into her find. It was no use. She got what she wanted. She used Frankie's mouth to burst into a howling fit of laughter. "I don't believe it. You're kidding! You? Heaven wants _you_? Now _that_ is a barrel of laughs!" The demon sauntered over to her table of tools, clutching the curved knife with Frankie's blood still dripping from it. "Just wait 'til Lucifer gets a load of you."

Frankie froze, fearful chills trickling from the walls of her psyche. She was being taken to Lucifer? Oh, god… oh _fuck_. This was exactly what Castiel said would happen. Her nightmares were becoming reality. Her life was ending, and more importantly, she was placing her brother's mission in jeopardy. Leaving was a huge mistake. She ruined everything!

The demon took Frankie's legs over to the end of the table where an old goblet with screaming faces jutting out of the side was perched. She grasped it in her other hand and maneuvered her body over to the old man still squirming violently in his chair. Frankie felt bad for the guy. He must have absolutely no idea what was going on.

The demon slashed the knife against his throat, a geyser of blood spewing from the slit and showering Frankie in speckles of red. Frankie went for a scream. Her mouth was still.

The demon killed an innocent man. With _Frankie's_ hands. It was a strange feeling to cry without shedding tears.

The demon lifted the goblet to the man's gushing throat and filled the cup with blood. When the goblet was nearly brimming with blood, the demon stepped back over to the table and set the sloshing cup down in front of her. She took her finger and stirred circles around in the warm fluid.

" _Tire quiero patem me a di_ ," the demon chanted with Frankie's tongue. She shivered within her own skin at the off sound of the incantation in her voice. The blood began to bubble with unnatural movements.

" _Yes?"_ a voice answered. It quavered the insides of Frankie's body like an earthquake. The voice itself was distant with an echo hissing behind the spoken words. Frankie then realized the voice wasn't coming from outside, but _within_ her body.

And that voice was the fallen angel himself. Lucifer. She was hearing _the_ _Lucifer_.

"I've got a lead on the Winchesters," the demon declared, sounding very proud of herself. "I've stolen something of theirs that they'll want back. I say we don't give her to them. Without a price, of course."

" _Her?"_ the strange voice indolently drawled.

The demon stood straighter, her face hardening as she spoke with gravity. "Yes. Their sister. John Winchester's illegitimate daughter."

The voice took its sweet time to answer. Frankie could feel him thinking in the suspenseful chasm that was her body. _"Interesting,"_ the voice finally hummed. _"Where is she?"_

"An abandoned shoe factory in Logan, Utah. Southside. Along Bartlem Road." Frankie broke out of her frightened bubble, realizing that _Lucifer_ was being given her location. She clawed at the inner walls over and over again and punched everything she could. "But sire," the demon spoke, a new cagey tone to her voice, "I have the building warded."

" _Then drag her outside,"_ the voice sighed. He sounded really fed up with the demon. Frankie shared that attitude with him.

Look at her. Relating to _Lucifer_.

"There's an angel outside. He's trying to get to the girl. I can't get out."

The voice was thinking again. Frankie didn't like the feeling it created. It was like floating in the middle of the ocean, nothing below her but miles and miles of open water. _"I'm on my way,"_ Lucifer finally announced, and then the bubbles in the goblet stopped.

The demon split Frankie's face into a wide smile. "He's coming."

Frankie felt miniscule in her own skin.

 _He_ was coming.

An earsplitting crash resonated in the room as the front door exploded. The old man's car flew through the wall and collided with ancient, decommissioned machines. Behind it, a gaping hole forced sunlight into the previously dim room, and through that hole strolled a _very_ pissed off Castiel.

The demon shot him a cold smirk. "Welcome to our club, Squidward."

Castiel ignored her remark and stormed right up to the demon. Frankie felt the fear sizzle inside the demon's form, and she understood why. Castiel was _terrifying_. His teeth were bared, eyes icily livid, shoulders drawn back. He looked larger than any other time she had seen him. If Frankie was the demon, she would be petrified.

The demon took a small step backwards as Castiel drew too close. The angel shot his arm forward, clasping Frankie's throat and pinning her back against the wall with a thump. The demon's panic flared inside Frankie's body, but she hid it from her voice.

"Ah, ah, ah! We wouldn't wanna hurt dear little Frankie, would we? She's locked up inside, and I'm not letting her go." Castiel's eyes flared in an icy blue fire, brows creasing his forehead with all the manic rage within him. Frankie cowered against it. "You wanna get to your precious girlfriend? You gotta go through me. And we wouldn't wanna upset Heaven, right? Gotta keep their golden girl in tip top shape."

Castiel squeezed her throat harder. Frankie tried to scream at him to not crush her windpipe. She still had to use that thing. "Let. Her. Go," he growled, his gravelly voice far more unsettling in his wrathful state.

"Or what, cowboy? Gunna kill me? But wait, that'll kill her, too! Aw shucks."

Castiel didn't waver a moment. He sucked in a breath, his eyes lighting up in a bright blue shine. Frankie caught herself becoming mesmerized in the beaming light.

" _Ol vinu a alonusahi od bogpa de elo, ol vinu a alonusahi od bogpa de elo_." The fear inside the demon quaked against the inner walls of Frankie's body. She knew exactly what mumbo jumbo Castiel was speaking. " _Boaluahe caosga. Bogira vaoresa zomdv caosga_."

"It doesn't matter. It's over. He knows," the demon frenziedly spat. Frankie's body began to twist and jerk against Castiel's words. The demon within her boiled and trembled with a loud ringing bouncing around like a rubber ball against the walls of Frankie's psyche.

" _Ta zomdv noco ol lava lap zomdv alonusahi_."

"Stop! _Shut up_!"

" _Dalagare oi zizop zomdv olapireta_!"

Frankie's head reared back as the demon screeched in pain. The black smoke shot out of Frankie's mouth just the way it came. It was expelled from her body and dove into the ground, disappearing in a smoldering circle.

Frankie's legs buckled underneath her. The pain from her ankle immediately burst back into existence, as did the numbness of her face. Her shoulder pulsated with pain as she collapsed to the floor.

Castiel crouched down beside her, enraged face now brimming with concern, cold eye now soft. "Are you alright?" he asked, helping her into a sitting position. Frankie grabbed his arm and squeezed it, trying to find her voice as her body righted itself back into its intended position.

"We gotta go," she gasped, throat raw and raspy. "Castiel, we gotta go! He's coming!" The angel's brows creased, clearly confused. Frankie's eyes darted to the huge hole in the wall from the flying station wagon. The trees began shaking far too violently for natural winds. The ground began to tremble unlike any earthquake she'd seen.

He was coming.

"I-It's him! He's coming! _Lucifer_!"

The angel finally realized the dire situation and twisted his head to the harsh winds. Frankie frantically shook his arm. "Castiel!" she yelled, jostling him out of his shocked trance.

His face with painted with reluctance, but he knew there was only one way to keep her safe, even if it was at his expense.

He grabbed both of her arms. Frankie looked into his eyes. They were just as afraid as hers. He hoisted her to her feet. She leaned on the wall to avoid standing on her foot.

The winds grew too violent, and she shut her eyes against the flying debris. Thunder roared much too closely and quickly to be natural. She braced herself against the clear signs that she was about to come face to face with Satan.

In an instant, everything stopped. The winds, the thunder, all of it. The air was calm and warm, the room quiet. Frankie cracked her eyes open, expecting to see the archangel standing in front of her with his eyes brimming with evil intent.

He wasn't there. Nobody was. In fact, she was in a completely different room. She stood in what was once the living room of a nice house, but it had been long abandoned. The walls were gray and peeling paint, everything covered in dust.

How the hell did they get here? She turned around to ask Castiel, but he wasn't there either. Panic flared in her chest. Did he make it out of there? She whipped her head all around the new room searching for her guardian.

And then she looked at her feet. Castiel was face down in the carpet, unconscious.

"Castiel!"


	33. Chapter 32 - Collapse

**A/N: Yeah, so this took a long time to write. Sorry, my dudes! It was originally like 27,000 words. I have no self control. So, naturally, I have split it into two chapters. I hope they are worth the wait. And hey! Look at that! The return of cannon! It's been a while, huh? Also, a big milestone: TaaHW has passed 300,000 words! How exciting is that! Thanks so much to all of you guys, from the very first followers to those who just hopped on this runaway train. You guys have been such big motivators and this story would not be what it is without y'all. Thank you so very much!**

 **Okay, my spiel is done. I hope you enjoy chapters 32 and 33!**

 **(Also, random and _late_ note, I apologize for my many typos. I usually write these chapters fast to get them out as soon as possible and my nearsighted ass misses a bunch of them. Anyway, thanks for dealing with those!)**

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Her throat rasped out grunt after groan and she hauled the dead weight. Tears minded their own business while they traveled her cheeks as her ankle was aflame with fresh agony. While her arms were slinked under the unconscious angel's own limbs and wrapped across his chest, being heaved to the tattered couch, her shoulder (still bleeding from the slice courtesy of that goddamn demon) screamed out with its own melody of miserable pain.

Her shoes slid helplessly against the dust-sprinkled floors of the old abandoned house. "Come _on_! Fuck!" her throat grated. She puffed out a few readying gasps, adjusting her grip on the heavy ass angel, and then inhaled a huge breath as she lifted Castiel's body onto the cushions in one quick, jerking motion.

Her slight exhale took the form of an exasperated shriek as she released all the weight bearing down onto her aching body. She fell to her knees, unable to stand on her swollen foot any longer. Her head fell in exhaustion, landing onto the wrinkled tie around Castiel's neck.

She closed her eye against the angel's disheveled clothing, steadying her breathing in the hopes of gaining any relief at all. She was hurt, tired, scared and confused. Lucifer now knew she existed and wasn't far behind. And Castiel, her sole protector against the archangel (aside from her own wits, which weren't very reliable nowadays), was out cold.

She lifted her head, her chin resting on his ever so slightly rising chest. She blinked hopelessly at his closed eyes and still muscles. He looked more human now than he ever had before. He looked peaceful, unburdened by the horrors shadowing the world. She brought a lone hand up to his cheek, placing it gently against the stubble peppering his jaw.

She gave him as strong of a slap as she could muster, causing his head to loll to the side. "Hey," she whispered. He remained unmoved. She smacked a series of smaller slaps against his lifeless face. "Castiel. Hey. Wake up." Not even a twitch signaled that he could hear her. She pouted and grasped the collar of his white button up shirt, fiercely shaking it. "Would you wake up, fuckwit?! C'mon! Don't leave me alone!"

She might as well have been jostling around a ragdoll. The only indication of him being alive was the small hint of breathing sighing out of his nostrils. Which struck her as weird. The thought of angels needing to breathe at all seemed backwards, but she chose to focus on the real issues at hand.

Frankie's first main issue: stop her bleeding. She hastily unbuttoned her shirt, revealing the red stained tank top underneath, and stretched it out to extend the sleeves. Biting her lip to swallow down the pain, she began awkwardly wrapping the shirt underneath her armpit and around her shoulder until it was taut against her skin. She then took the sleeves and tied them into as tight a knot as she could get it. It was a momentary fix until she found something to sew up the cut.

She hoisted herself to her feet – or foot rather. The slightest pressure on her right ankle ensured mountains of pain, so she had an awkward hopping thing going on. She was really glad Castiel was unconscious as she bounced around the house single _foot_ edly.

She calculated her leaps very carefully and eventually made it to the kitchen. The second floor above it had fallen through years ago, making it impossible for someone operating with one foot to traverse. She groaned and shuffled clumsily to turn herself around.

Something long and thin caught her eye. Lying on the floor among the heap of debris was an old broom, still in pretty good shape. She quirked an eyebrow at the hint of an idea. Taking the broom, she gripped it tight and forcefully unfastened the stiff bristles from the handle. Tossing the excess pieces aside, she examined the slender wooden handle. It seemed stable enough, not many splintering breaks, a rubber grip at one end to hold against the floor – yes, it would make a suitable cane for the time being.

The broomstick wasn't great, but it helped ease the weight from her foot, so it suitably did its purpose. She hobbled around the rest of the house and came across an odd room across a hallway from the bathroom. It was hard to make out what it used to be as it seemed that it had been picked clean by either the previous owners or looters.

She quirked up her lips in a grimace at an odd, rotting smell coming from the room and turned to leave, but once she rotated she spotted a small desk by the wall near the doorway. It was an old sewing machine, rusted over and clearly not in working order, but that was fine. That meant needles and thread!

She limped over to the desk and found a single needle. She nearly thanked God for her luck, but she held her tongue, knowing he probably didn't care. Now all she needed was thread. She opened up drawer after drawer, each one with no sign of any materials she needed. "Fuck me…," she muttered as she opened the last drawer. Nothing. Not a damn thing.

She would just need to find something else. She tapped her fingers against the broomstick as she thought of another solution. Well… she did see a bathroom. Maybe they had floss. She chewed the inside of her lip, not particularly fancying the idea of suturing dental tools into her open wound, but she was desperate.

'Luck' made itself known once again as a single canister was lying dormant in the medicine cabinet. She sighed out a weak, "Yay," as she staggered back to the living room to check on Castiel.

He was still unconscious. Another puny cheer passed her lips as she plopped herself down at the end of the couch, leaning her back against one of its arms. She began to unravel her damp shirt to assess how bad the injury was.

Welp. It was pretty bad. A good two and a half inches of puffy, oozing, open skin. But it could've been a lot worse. It wasn't nearly as deep as the demon could have made it.

Frankie whispered out a shaky melody of all the curse words she knew as she inserted the bent needle into her uncleansed skin. The thick dental floss singed a minty fire as it fastened her skin back together.

"Fuckin', shitfuck, damning cock balls, bitchin', motherfuckin', cocksuckin', cum stain sonnuva bitch!" she heatedly whispered as the flesh pulled together until it resembled one straight line.

She tied the end of the floss and threw the needle somewhere to her left as she sank against the side of the couch, a weary sigh rasping out of her raw throat. Her shoulder throbbed like a dying lightbulb, but at least the bleeding stopped. As for the rest of her injuries… well…

She had accumulated quite a bit of blemishes over the past couple weeks. Now both her shoulder and her jaw had stitches, one eye was swollen shut from continues blows, her neck had bite marks, her ankle was surely fractured, and her nose was split down the middle. And she had wondered why people gave her weird looks out in public.

Her head pressed into the firm arm of the couch, eyes closed. Why did she think she could do this? Not just running away, going out on her own, but why did she think this life was a good idea? Hunting had its appeals, but was it really worth all that she was putting herself through?

' _Of course it is. I'm doing this for Sam and Dean.'_

' _But they don't want you doing this. They tried to stop you from hunting. From being around them.'_

' _They're my brothers. The only family I've got. What was I supposed to do, leave?'_

' _And yet you ran off anyway?'_

' _I… you know why. You're my own damn thoughts. Why am I explaining myself to… myself?!'_

' _Because your doubt is stronger than your certainty. You ran away because you thought it was the only way to keep everyone safe. But lookie who's passed out on the couch.'_

Damn. She had a point. She left her brothers to draw the pain and suffering away from those she cared about. And now Castiel was wrapped up into that as well. If she hadn't run off, she wouldn't have been in that warehouse and she wouldn't have been possessed. Castiel wouldn't have come in to save her.

And he wouldn't have had to risk his life for her mistake.

Ignoring the rising pain, she placed her hands onto her face, sighing into them. She couldn't win, could she? She couldn't keep everyone safe. She just made things worse.

Why did she think selling her soul was a better option than dying?

A guttural groan whispered behind her. Her eye shot open, dismal thoughts put on hold. She scampered to her knees and shuffled around the couch to the awakening angel.

"Castiel!" she barely breathed out. She clutched the fraying fabric of the couch as he lifted himself onto his elbows. He shook his head, his ebony strands bouncing against his glistening forehead. His eyes blinked open, wide and forcefully attentive like a student trying to convince the professor that they certainly had not been sleeping in class.

His gaze slowly scanned the room, head revolving until his azure irises landed on the girl at his side. Those examining eyes quickly filled with worry as he reached for her arm, holding it firmly. "Frankie. Are you alright?"

She was startled at his sudden concern. He really took the whole 'keeping her safe for Dean' thing seriously. "I'm- It doesn't matter! Are _you_ alright?"

He blinked, gaze falling to the floor as his brows scrunched together. "I'm not sure. What happened?"

Frankie lifted her own eyebrow. "What do you remember?"

"I remember… you were frightened. Something was happening, and I… I remember being frightened as well." Frankie stared blankly at him. So that _was_ fear she saw. Her caramel-colored eye prodded him with a wary glint. "I remember you grabbing me… and you were bleeding." His eyes suddenly widened and he pointed them to her body, narrowing his sights on her stitched shoulder. She hurried to hide the injury, covering her stitches with a trembling hand.

"Oh, i-i-it's fine. I'm fine. I fixed it. For now. It's-… is that all you remember?" He didn't believe her – it was clear in his furrowed brows and curved frown – but he nodded despite his disbelief. Frankie swallowed, knowing she would have to explain her screw up to the person – er… being – she really didn't want to disappoint again. "You rescued me. I was possessed by a demon and… she found out about things and-"

"Things?"

"Yes. _Those_ things." Castiel glared, but not at her. At least she hoped it wasn't directed at her. "And then Lucifer showed up."

"Lucifer?!" Castiel's entire face now bled concern, his hand tightening on her forearm, nearly painfully.

"Almost! Almost showed up. You teleported us outta there before he could properly introduce himself. When we got here, you… I dunno. Collapsed." It was Frankie's turn to bombard him with a worry-tinted eye. "Are angels… _supposed_ to collapse?"

Castiel's eyes pointed elsewhere, far from Frankie. He released his hand from her arm and lifted the rest of his body into a sitting position. "Teleporting myself is beginning to meet its own challenges. Teleporting a human… it takes a lot more out of me."

Oh great. So it really was her fault that he passed out. How much more could she fuck things up?

"How long was I out?" he asked.

Frankie half-shrugged. "About half an hour. Not very long, thank God."

Castiel roughly grunted as he turned his body so his feet rested on the floor. Frankie remained sitting upright on her knees. "I took us a great distance from that warehouse. As far as I could reach before succumbing to weakness. If he decides to pursue us, he won't be far behind."

"Oh. Good to know," Frankie huffed.

"I can hide from him, barely. You, however, are a shining beacon in his eyes." Frankie cursed under her breath, leaning back onto her haunches. "Not to worry. I can fix that."

"You can?" Frankie hastily asked. "Yeah! Do it! Anything!" Without a moment's hesitation, Castiel placed his large palm in between her breasts, a little too low for her tastes. "Uh, now's not exactly the time for-" Before she could finish her sentence, a severe burning flared inside her, seemingly puncturing her insides with a branding iron. It caused her to gasp in pain, but the feeling was gone as quickly as it came. "Geez, what the hell was that?"

"An Enochian sigil. I carved it into your ribs." Frankie gawked at him, placing a hand against her chest and absentmindedly rubbing it. "It will hide you from every angel in creation. Including Lucifer."

Frankie sighed out in great relief. At least there was one upside to her pain. Of course that meant that she would be hidden from Castiel, too. How would he be able to find her now?

Just as she went to ask him, his nose trickled a small stream of blood. Frankie gasped out in alarm, leaning forward to catch the slumping angel before he fell to the floor. "Castiel! What the hell's the matter with you?! Are you okay?!"

He moaned against his own pain. Frankie's heart clenched at the thought of him experiencing any agony at all. His hand grasped for something to hang onto, landing on her unstitched shoulder.

"That took… a lot more out of me than I had thought. I just need to rest a moment. I'll be fine."

Bull. Shit. Frankie knew better to believe that lie. After all, she told it many times herself. She could deal with herself wearing down from the inside out, but she absolutely refused to let that happen to her friend. Er… her angel bodyguard.

She slowly rose to her foot, using the cane to help hoist herself up. "That's it. I'm taking away your power privileges. Until absolutely necessary, you can't fly, throw cars into walls, or even magically clean your clothes until you get your strength back. That means no God searching."

"Frankie, that's absurd!"

"I don't care, Castiel! You've been flooring it with low fuel for _way_ too many miles." He tilted his head curiously at her odd metaphor. "You gotta give yourself a break. You can't just keep at this whole God search and look after me without taking a breather. If you keep pushing yourself you'll get seriously hurt!"

Castiel's indignant eyes turned stern, impaling her with a scolding frown. "The same can be said about yourself."

Frankie was caught off guard by that. Yes, it was true, but this wasn't about her. _None_ of this was about her. "I'm fin-"

"You are not fine!" Frankie flinched against his raised voice and accusatory scowl. "Your face is swollen with bruises and cuts! Your ankle is twice the size it should be! Not to mention your lack of sleep!"

Frankie recoiled at his points. They were accurate, but she didn't need him focusing on her. An angel losing its power was far more important than a couple bumps and bruises.

She crossed her arms over her chest despite the pain it brought to her shoulder. "So what? I got a few nicks here and there. I'll live."

Castiel sighed. "At the rate you're going, I fear you won't live long."

Frankie swallowed. She knew he was right. She was hanging on by a very thin string, but she'd be damned if she appeared weak. She shrugged while avoiding the angel's pressing gaze. "I've made it this far. At this point it's a personal bet to see just how far I can go. Like I said, I'll live. Never said it would be long." Her eye flicked back to Castiel's unchanged expression. "And what about you? You can barely keep your footing. If you can't even mark a sigil without falling on your face, what makes you think you can go up against any measly demon?"

That was not the right thing to say. A little side effect of becoming more and more human was the emergence of actual emotion on his face. And boy, did he look offended by that remark. His eyes were stone cold, lips pressing into a tight frown. With a little extra effort it would have been the same glower he gave the demon that possessed her. She bristled at the memory.

"Look. Let's…," she sighed, averting her eye from the chilling look, "just keep moving. That's all we can do right now. Get your rest, then we'll head out. We'll need to stop by the store. All my supplies were in my bag." She frowned at the loss of her stuff. They had been in the old man's car, which meant that not only did she not have her clothes, but her machete was missing as well.

Good riddance.

"I'll drive us. No flying."

Castiel nearly scoffed. "With that foot?"

Frankie bit down on her tongue to stop the bitter words launching up her throat. She was getting pretty tired of him pointing out her setbacks. "I can manage."

She hobbled over to a chair that still had four legs and set herself down on it, facing away from the angel. He may have been weak, but there was a strong chance he could still read her mind. She didn't even want to give him the idea by seeing her troubled expression.

She hated that he was right. She was a broken human. She could barely walk, and she was calling him out on _his_ weakened state?

She closed her eye. She wished she was home.

"I've been thinking."

She nodded approvingly. "Thinking's good. That leads to ideas, and God knows we need some."

There was a momentary silence in the room. Frankie could practically hear Castiel's hesitance and doubt.

"Perhaps we should return to Sam and Dean."

Frankie's eye reopened, harboring an icy glint. She snapped her head over to the angel, speechless.

"We need help. I trust them enough to ask for their assistance."

Frankie feverishly shook her head. "No. _No_! Absolutely not!"

"Frankie-"

"Do you have any idea what they'll do to me?!" she shouted, forcing herself onto her feet. She gave a quiet grunt against the pain in her ankle. "Yelling is the least of my worries! They'll find out about _everything_! I don't know how, but they will! That's if that damn demon hasn't escaped from Hell and told them everything by now."

The image of Dean's misty eyes, gazing hard down at his disappointing sister was all too vivid. She squeezed her eye shut and shook her head. She couldn't see that. Her heart wouldn't take it.

She opened her eye and scowled at the angel giving her a tired stare. "And what'll they think when they figure out I've been hiding this from them? That _we've_ been hiding this from them?" That defensive look resurfaced, but this time it was different. It was filled with more worry than before.

"I… understand that they won't take it very well. They tend to get very upset when they're withheld information." That nervous look was replaced by a knowing glare. "But this has surpassed our control. I can only keep you safe if I can function properly. As you have precisely noted, I no longer can." Frankie crossed her arms, trying to barricade against the regret of calling him out on his weaknesses. "I promised to keep you safe. If that means instilling the aid of your brothers, then I will."

Frankie swallowed against the growing irritation filling her tear ducts. This was all just… too much. Her soul, her brothers, Castiel's stubbornness, what she couldn't and shouldn't do, the severe lack of genuine happiness in her life, she couldn't bear it.

She turned her head to the side, a quivering sigh escaping through her nostrils. "Why the _fuck_ did Heaven choose me?" she muttered quietly, voice cracking. That was what it all came down to. "I am _not_ worth all this. Why haven't they come for me yet? Am I even still relevant to them?!"

"What are you saying? Of course you are. That's why you have the brand on your-"

"But _why me_?!" Frankie's head snapped over to Castiel, penetrating him with a tearful glower. "I'm not religious, I don't love God unconditionally, I'm not even a good person!" Castiel's head tilted to the side. "I can't do shit! Not for my brothers, not for _you_ , not even for myself!" She stuck her right leg out and pulled on her jeans, revealing her swollen, purpling ankle. " _This_ is _my_ fault! I couldn't even defend myself against a demon! I saw the warning signs, I felt things weren't right, and I _still_ walked right into their trap! So how the _hell_ am I supposed to help _Heaven_?!"

She collapsed into her chair. She hung her head low and raked her fingers through her scraggly hair, makeshift cane thudding to the floor. Her fingers tightened around the many strands of hair until a few began popping out of her scalp.

Torture. They were putting her through torture. Why would they brand her as important and not even give her the fucking decency of showing up when she was getting beat to death? She must not be that important after all.

That was good. Fewer angels to deal with.

And yet she felt even emptier inside.

Since she learned of her relevance to Heaven and the archangels, she felt a small feeling of security and hope. After years of believing she had no purpose – destined to die an early death – finally she had one. It was scary and confusing, but she was relieved to be meant for more than just a premature grave.

But now it seemed as if there was no brand at all. No angels other than Castiel showed up or even acknowledged that she was help to Heaven.

Which made her think for a moment.

If Castiel was the only angel who has even mentioned her importance… how did she know he was telling the truth?

Her fingers stopped pulling on her hair.

No. Why would he lie about something like that? What was in it for him? How could keeping her thinking Heaven had plans for her benefit him in any way?

He did seem to care a lot about Dean. He mentioned that he was protecting her not only for 'Heaven' but also for Dean. Keeping her safe meant he would be happy. But if he didn't know about it, then what was the point? But didn't Castiel just suggest going back to tell them about everything?

That sneaky… lying… dick! That was it, wasn't it? He didn't really care. Who would? Who in their right mind would put up with her whinny, bitchy ass and come out risking their life for hers? No one, unless they had an ulterior motive, and Castiel had one. She was his pawn, his tool to control Dean's emotions. And he did all of this in the easiest way possible: by telling her she was worth something. She believed him without a second thought.

All the time worrying, all the restless nights, all the hairs pulled from her head were for nothing! It had to be! Castiel kept her safe because he had to, because she was the easiest way to get to her brother. He fed her lies, told her she had this important purpose to help Heaven and end the apocalypse. And she had fallen for it.

Stupid, fucking Frankie.

She should just stop thinking about it. She didn't need any more shit to worry about. But she couldn't help but notice the now not-so-subtle signs that things weren't all they seemed.

' _Remember, this is our secret,'_ he had warned. She thought the way he said that was strange. Now she may know the reason why. Was he actually feeding her lies to enlist some faux trust in him? To keep her following his orders so he could plan the perfect scheme to prove to Dean that he was still a good angel? His friend?

 _His_ friend. _Dean's_ friend. Not hers.

Her heart deflated like an opened balloon, fart noise and all. They hadn't known each other long, but she had hoped he could be a friend to her, too. She thought that in time they could be more than a pathetic child and an annoying angel bodyguard. She thought their time spent together would lead to the friendship she never had.

Her mistake.

"Frankie," the fiend spoke, now standing next to her. She opened her good eye, but didn't turn to look at him. She internally grimaced at the lying bastard. "You were possessed by a demon. Creatures that even some of the most experienced hunters fail to defeat. And yet here you sit, alive." She kept her gaze straight, but her brow slightly lifted. "One lost battle does not erase the potential of a strong soldier. You were alone and weakened when the demon kidnapped you. The odds weren't in your favor, and even if they were it would have been very difficult for you to put up a fight. You're incredibly inexperienced."

"Gee, thanks."

Castiel sighed and stepped over to stand in front of her, attempting to catch her gaze. She turned her head the other way. "I don't say this to insult you. I say it to apologize."

Frankie's brows pulled together. Her eyes snapped to the corner, sending him a hard sideways glance. "Apologize?"

"You were still training with your brother when I told you of your importance. I instructed you to stop, to stay away from hunting in an attempt to protect you. But… all I did was halt your progress of self-defense. I urged you to run away and separate from Sam and Dean. And in doing so… you were badly injured. It's clear that it's my fault."

Frankie turned her head all the way over to Castiel, brows hovering curiously over her single open eye. The angel offered her a soft, guilty gaze, eyes pleading for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry for encouraging you to leave your brothers. Though I thought it was right at the time, I now know you would have been far safer with them than listening to me. You might have been better off never knowing about the mark on your soul."

"At least we can both agree with that," Frankie deadpanned. Castiel frowned.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my business. But I hope you understand that I didn't mean any harm by informing you of your situation."

Oh, he was good. He. Was. Good. He thought putting on this detailed apologetic façade was really going to work with her. Maybe it would have brought the old Frankie to her knees, but not the new Frankie. No, no, she now knew everything. Castiel was blatantly lying to her to make it seem like he had no idea that she was onto him. She wouldn't give in – _Hell_ no – but she would play along for now.

She turned her head to stare blankly ahead. "You thought you were helping. I get it. Have I been worse off with the knowledge? Yeah. I really have. So where do we go from here?"

Castiel's eyes pointed to the floor, a resigned look in his tired face. "I suggest we go back to your brothers."

"Castiel-"

"They worry for you, Frankie." The girl pressed her lips together, her chest tightening. "They want to know you're safe."

"Well of course they do," Frankie snapped. "That's all they want. Nothing else on the fucking planet matters except whether or not I'm safe. To hell with focusing on what's _really_ important. I specifically told them _not_ to look for me. To stop the damn apocalypse already, but _no_. They do the opposite, because they're selfish pricks. They'll let innocent people die before they leave me alone."

"They can't save the world by themselves," Castiel reasoned. "They need help. And so do we. I suggest we meet them in the middle. We help them where we can, and they help us to hide your secret."

Frankie darkly chuckled. "Well it's a little late for that, isn't it?" Castiel furrowed his brows, tilting his head, confused. "That demon knows about everything. She'll spill the beans to Lucifer. What else is there to keep secret?"

Castiel was quiet for a long moment. He knew what she said was right. Lucifer would have shown up to an empty warehouse, pissed. He'd go off looking for the demon that possessed Frankie and would be told everything that she knew.

Or rather, what she thought she knew. The only truth to her secrets was her soul belonging to the King of the Crossroads.

She shuddered at the reminder, her hands clasped tightly to her arms.

After thinking over her words, Castiel lifted his head and straightened his back, hard gaze standing out among his pale, sunken face. "Then we must make sure he doesn't use that knowledge against us. We need to keep you away from him. The only foreseeable way to do that is to get help from your brothers."

"Castiel, I am _not_ going back to them!" Frankie shouted, throwing her head back. "What good will they do? Shoot him? He's an archangel. And not just any archangel, he's _Lucifer_! Satan himself! Sam and Dean are ants compared to him! And that should tell you enough of a chance _we_ stand against him."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Castiel snapped. Frankie scowled at his raised voice. He noticed his flourish of emotion and tried to hide it behind a stoic mask, his voice leveling. "If not to your brothers, then where should we go?"

"Well, for starters, let's get as far away from here – wherever _here_ is – as possible. We'll go south. Far south. Mexico if we have to. We gotta get as far away from Sam and Dean as possible. Like you said a while back, they're after them, not me. I'm only good to them if they catch me and since we're hidden from angels that gives us a good chance to flee."

"Frankie, that's absurd!"

The girl rolled her eyes as she reached for her makeshift cane. "You sure do like to say that, don't you?"

"That is a terrible plan! If the angels don't catch us then the demons will. You could get possessed again. You're not yet warded from them, and they will take you straight to Lucifer." Frankie shot him a sour glare for lack of a good counter argument. She lifted herself from her chair and started limping away. Castiel followed close behind. "And do you expect to get far with your injuries? Neither of us are in any condition to travel."

"We'll get by."

Frankie heard a quiet, guttural noise from the angel behind her. He _growled_ at her. "The longer you stay separated from your brothers, the longer they will try to find you. As long as you continue to avoid them, they will take longer to stop the apocalypse. Have you thought of that?"

Frankie's limping ceased. She looked down to the floor. She hadn't thought about that. She was too worried about them discovering her secrets that she didn't stop to think of how going out on her own affected the bigger picture.

"You're so concerned with how selfish Sam and Dean are that you don't stop to consider how selfish _you_ are."

Frankie's head snapped forward, eye darkening. Her hand squeezed against the splintering wooden cane as she twisted around to face Castiel. "Oh, _I'm_ being selfish?" She stepped forward on her bad foot. She clamped her jaw against the pain, now speaking through clenched teeth. " _I'm_ being _selfish_? Well, then _what_ does that make _you_?"

Castiel's eyebrows scrunched together as he stared affronted down at the fuming girl. "What are you talking about?"

Frankie manically laughed as she placed her free hand on her hip. "This whole topsy-turvy adventure you have us going on? First you tell me to go out on my own to protect myself for this huge destiny _bullshit_ , now you want me to go back to await the aftermath of the mess _you_ started? That's what I'm fucking talking about!"

"I didn't start anything."

Frankie's face reddened as her grip on the cane tightened, stabbing small shards of splinters into her fingers. "Oh, yes you did! This whole 'God's plan' crap? That 'Heaven has work for me' bullshit? The fucking _brand_ on my fucking _soul_?!"

Castiel's pestered gaze tightened to a confused glare, his frown deepening on his tired face. "I told you that I meant it with the best intentions to inform you of your purpose. I didn't want you to get hurt."

"Okay, just _stop_ with this whole purpose shit!" Frankie threw her hands in the air, dropping her cane to the floor. She stepped up to the angel, forcing her enraged face into his confused expression. "I know it's not real! The jig is up, so just forget it already!"

"I don't understand! What are you talking about?!"

"You made up all this Heaven-brand-on-soul crap! That's why no other angels seem to know about it! That's why no one's come to rescue me except you! It's actually amazing how obvious it is now that I look back on it! And I know you're gunna say 'that's absurd' like the five-foot-eleven pillar of repetition you are, and I'll tell you right now, it's not."

"Well, of course it's absurd! I have never once lied to you! Why would I lie about this?!"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe to get back on good terms with Dean? I beg you to recall last night whilst I was in a drunken state, you proclaimed that looking after me would 'bring him peace of mind'. It's clear to me that he's all you really care about. Tricking me into believing Heaven has plans for me will give you complete control over what I did. With me under your 'care' you'd be free to dictate my every move. Hell, I went all the way out to _Utah_ because you told me to go there! Well… it was the demon who told me to go to the warehouse, but I thought it was you and I went because of that!"

"Frankie, do you not understand how unbelievable your accusation is?" Castiel stepped forward to tower over the girl with a dark scowl on his face. She didn't budge and kept her neck craned to glare into his eyes. "I would _never_ exploit you like that."

"And I'm supposed to just believe you? That's been the whole problem here. I've been blindly following your ass! I know _nothing_ about you! All I know is you're friends with my brother. That's it. Why did I think it was a good idea to listen to you?!"

"Because I'm trying to help you!"

" _Why_?!"

Castiel opened his mouth to fire off his immediate answer, but he paused. His mouth was suspended open, silent, an unsure look in his fiery eyes. Frankie's brows shot up, her head quirking as she awaited his excuse.

"Why, Castiel?" she barked.

He blinked, snapping out of his pause. He pressed his lips into a deep frown as he filled his lungs with a staid breath. "Because you need it," he growled in a deep rumble that vibrated against Frankie's chest.

She swallowed as she glowered up at the angel. He was livid, and so was she.

She didn't need this. She wouldn't be some angel's puppet. She refused to be his pawn. And now he knew that she was onto him, but he still kept up this whole bullshit charade?

Her brows deepened over her callous eye, daring him to continue his lies. She wanted him to speak, to try and convince her that he truly was offering himself for her protection and her protection only. _Not_ _Dean's_.

The coward kept his mouth shut.

A dull buzz breached their silent stalemate. Frankie flicked her eye to Castiel's pocket where the faintest glow was seeping through the fabric of his trousers. She blinked her cold glare back up to him as he expelled his frustration with a sigh.

He reached into his pocket and revealed his cellphone. Had Frankie not been excruciatingly pissed at him, she would have found it amusing that an angel had a data plan.

Castiel's face drooped with exasperation before he answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?" he plainly greeted.

"Cas. It's Bobby."

Barbed chains sprang from the inner walls of Frankie's chest and coiled agonizingly around her heart once the older man's voice reached her ears. Her frigid eyes melted into pools of sorrow.

"Hey, I know yer busy and all with lookin' for God, but…," Bobby sighed, "Sam and Dean are missin'."

Frankie felt her whole world sink into the rotting wood beneath her feet. Her eyelids burrowed into her skull – her swollen eye finally opening – amplifying her distrait pupils. Her mouth parted to let her broken soul trickle from the corners of her mouth.

No. It couldn't be. They were…

"Missing?" Castiel grunted, his eyes carrying the very same shattered weight that the girl's harbored.

"They were out lookin' for the kid." The prickly chains in Frankie's chest viciously tugged, choking the girl's heart. "They sniffed somethin' out in Wellington, Ohio. Some case. I haven't heard back from 'em in a couple days. It's about this time I start assumin' their asses are hung up somewhere." Castiel's eyes drifted closed and Frankie brought her fingers up to her mouth, teeth grinding against her nails. "I know you got bigger things goin' on, but you think you mind flyin' over there and checkin' up on 'em? I'd do it myself but I don't really got my footin' at the moment, if you know what I mean." Frankie's eyes squeezed shut at the painful reminder of his condition. "It's probably nothin'. I'm sure they're just brawlin' it out again, but I don't wanna risk losin' two more, y'know?"

Frankie sank back into her chair. God-fucking-dammit, she _was_ selfish. Aside from the fact that Sam and Dean were out looking for her when they went missing, that meant Bobby was now alone with one working leg, unable to do much more than hobble around.

Much like herself. The irony sickened her.

And when he mentioned her… his voice was so broken over her absence. Her heart couldn't take it. Her vital life-sustaining organ was bleeding with anguish. She didn't think she meant that much to him.

But then she thought of how she impacted his life. She remembered what Dean had told her.

' _When Bobby gets in these studying riffs… well he kinda forgets that he's human sometimes. Y'know, he forgets to eat, forgets to sleep, doesn't clean up or bathe. But having you around to help him cook and clean and stuff, it helps him a lot. And it reminds him that he has someone around he needs to keep tabs on. In a way, you remind him of his humanity. And right now… that's a small victory in a whole lotta losses.'_

That day seemed so long ago, so distant. She enjoyed that moment with Dean. Washing dishes stood out among the river of defeat they were going through, and now that river grew and grew.

Looking back on her new life with Sam, Dean, and Bobby – the family dinners, the offhand stories of past hunts, even the bickering – made her realize just how much she took for granted. She was running away from that life to protect it, to preserve it. But then what was the fucking point?

Who's to say that once all was said and done and the apocalypse ended that her new life will still be there? What if they didn't all make it out (for God's sake, her brothers were probably being held at gun point that very moment)? What if Bobby's house was destroyed in the cross fire along with Bobby himself? God, she would never forgive herself for leaving him like she did.

' _Bye, Bobby. See you in a couple days. Don't die, okay?'_ she had said. That last comment felt so dark and morbid once she realized he was all alone without her, Sam, or Dean in the dawning of the end. Hell, the demons used him as leverage once. He was easier to get to now.

Her fingers descended to the dull gold chain around her neck, clutching it tightly in her hand.

She couldn't leave him like that. He needed someone there with him, even if he would never admit it. If her brothers were going to go out and search for a way to stop the devil and his brother, Bobby would need help back at the Homefront.

She was tempted to go back. Even if it meant revealing her secrets. Maybe Bobby would understand. Maybe he would put aside her mistake until the apocalypse was stopped. She would postpone the inevitable heartbreak if it meant keeping him safe just a little while longer.

"Yes. I will go check on them." Frankie flinched back into reality, remembering that the man she worried so much about was just on the other line. "I'm sure they're fine."

Frankie quietly scoffed. With her luck, they wouldn't be.

"Yeah, me, too. And, uh… Cas?"

"Yes?"

"You haven't picked up any sign of the kid yet, have ya?"

Frankie's heart lurched. He really was worried about her, wasn't he? She feared he wouldn't be once he learned of her crimes.

Suddenly her mind caught up to the situation. Castiel glanced down to Frankie, catching her gaze in his. Her eyes widened, finally realizing that he was about to out her. He was about to reveal her location to Bobby before she was ready to return. She wanted to scowl, but a sliver of her nearly wanted him to tell Bobby. Sam and Dean were a different story, but she wasn't so sure she wanted to keep lying to the older man much longer.

Castiel pressed his lips into a firm line as he gazed down at the girl. She was conflicted and she was sure he could tell, but more than anything she was anxious to hear what spouted from his deceiving mouth.

"No."

Frankie's brows elevated. Her mind was a melting pot of battling emotions. She was relieved he didn't out her, confused why he didn't, and disappointed, even, for reasons she was still working out.

"Eh, that's okay. She's pretty good at avoidin' us, I'll give her that."

His tired remark urged her mind to change itself and run straight home to him.

"Yes. She does seem rather erratic and quick to disregard that anyone could be looking out for her betterment and safety." His glower returned to his eyes as they bore into Frankie's. Her own eyes harbored a dark shadow, creating a look that cussed him out in every way she knew. "That is, at least, what I've gathered from what Dean has told me."

And there he went again with the lying. Dick.

"Uh… yeah. Anyway, let me know when you find out anythin' about the boys or the kid. Keep in touch."

"Yes. I will."

Bobby hung up without another word, and Castiel closed his phone without one slipping from his own tongue. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, eyes still sticking to Frankie's like they were tethered together.

The girl crossed her arms loosely over her chest as she glared up at the angel. As the silent seconds ticked on, she began tapping her fingers against her arms. Castiel remained unmoving. His eyes, however, were filled with a contemplative glint, appearing as if he was uncertain of his next move. Frankie was curious of that.

Minutes ago he was ready to return to her family and tell them everything, informing them of just how wretched she was. Now, when given the chance to do so, he lied? He _didn't_ tell Bobby that he was hiding her away? That angel teetered more than a new seesaw at a public playground.

She squinted her eyes into the angel's, trying to gather anything from what was buzzing within his vessel's skull. Maybe she could read _his_ mind for a change. Yeah. That'll show that bastard. She gritted her teeth together as she tried to force telepathy, but just about the time where she'd give herself an aneurism, he turned his head away, a soft sigh filtering out of his nostrils. She sat up straighter, forcing attentiveness into her posture.

"I'm going to go find them."

Frankie's brows shot up, panic shoving its way through the crowd of emotions polluting her mind. Suddenly she remembered all the repercussions that could come forth from her brothers learning all her secrets. "B-But you can't," she blurted.

Then she recalled the fact that they were missing. They might be in danger. _'God, Frankie, this isn't about you!'_ She needed to stop being selfish and start thinking of _their_ safety.

She shook her head, expelling a quiet, frustrated breath. "You're too weak."

"I'll live," he grunted. Frankie scowled, lifting herself from the chair.

"Not long if you jump right into a fight."

Castiel turned the rest of the way from her, now staring out of a cracked window. "They're my friends. I will help them until I am void of my last drop of strength." He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her eye with a steely gaze. "That's what friends do for each other."

Frankie's arms tightened over her chest. "Yeah. That's what they _should_ do for each other." Jesus, why did she sound like a fucking middle schooler?

Castiel lingered his glare, faintly deepening it before returning his eyes to the window. "You're welcome to come along if you wish. I won't force you. They are your brothers, but I understand any hesitance you have of seeing them again. If you choose to stay, I will ward this house from angels and demons until I return. You should be safe, but if anything gets inside, just pray to me. I will return as soon as I possibly can."

Frankie's eyes dove for the floor.

"I don't intend to take long. Of course if angels have them, there is a strong chance that I will be killed." Frankie's brows shot up. "If that happens, this will be the last time we will speak."

His mouth ceased movement, suspending his final words in the musty air. Frankie blinked her eyes back up to him. He stood in front of the fractured window, seemingly staring at nothing. His back was turned to her, his body taking up a faint sway. He didn't usually sway.

Goddammit, he really was going to die. The bastard was far too weak to go up against anything yet. He needed rest, but he wouldn't waste a single moment for Dean. Not unless someone was there to make sure he gathered his strength back.

She may hate the guy, but she didn't want him dead. He was still important to her brother. And he did save her life. She owed him _something_.

She heavily sighed, dropping her arms to rest her hands on her hips. "No it won't," she sighed, annoyed. Castiel didn't turn to face her, but she saw his brows deepen in his reflection. "Look, I may be completely against seeing them again… and I'm not looking forward to the conversation that will happen after we rescue them… but I can't just let you go out and die for something I got them into. And, I mean, I can't let _them_ die either so I'm going no matter what. Someone's gotta save their asses."

She gulped, nodding her head as she finally came to terms with herself. "And… dammit, you're right. I am being selfish. The longer I keep up this game of cat and mouse, the bigger the number of deaths will come out of this mess. I'll…," she chewed the inside of her cheek as she crossed her arms over her chest, "I'll give up my happiness so innocents can have the opportunity to be happy."

She closed her eyes. She should have known it wouldn't last. She wasn't meant to get this far in life. It was her own fault for buying more time only for it to blow up in her face. She was to blame, and she'd take the heat for it.

"That's a very humble outlook, Frankie." She reopened her eyes, flicking them over to the angel. He turned back toward her, now gazing at her with tamer eyes. "That's a far step into selflessness." He nodded, almost like he was proud of her. Big whoop. The asshole set all this into motion in the first place. Fuckin' bitch.

"Yeah, whatever," she shrugged. "Let's catch a shuttle. No flying. We can both rest on our way over. And people who use buses usually look like us anyway, so we won't be out of place."

Castiel's hesitant face spoke a million words of refusal to not teleport, but Frankie had already grabbed her cane and was limping towards the door.

"You got cash, right?"

"Um, I have Jimmy's wallet."

Frankie bristled at the drop of the man's name, but shoved it – and the horrible memories that came with it – back into her subconscious where it belonged. "Good. I don't have any money on me anymore, so we'll have to use whatever he had."

She threw open the door of the old house and hobbled through the doorway. She walked across the porch and came to her first challenge: stairs. Well, that's fine, right? She'd been down stairs plenty of times with two feet. What's one less going to do?

She twisted her body left and right to find the best angle, brows furrowed as they pointed at the fiendish steps. She glowered at their steepness. Damn them and their distance from the ground. Why couldn't those idiots in the eighteen hundreds just build ramps?

Frankie's curses towards the nineteenth century carpenters were immediately halted when Castiel stepped up behind her, so close that the bottom of his trench coat caressed her calves. She stiffened, not loving the feeling of the lying, powerful asshat being so close to her.

She especially didn't love his arms wrapping around her shoulders and the backs of her knees.

She yelped as Castiel lifted her body into his arms and held her close to his chest. She squirmed, pushing away from him as he descended the stairs without a second thought.

"What in God's name are you doing?! Put me down!"

"Am I hurting you?" he blankly asked, catching her off-guard with how nonchalant and indifferent his voice sounded. Well, more so than usual.

"'Am I hurt-'… no, you're not hurting me! But I don't want you-"

"You can only walk on one foot. This is the fastest way to the shuttle station. Time is far too valuable to waste."

She despised that he had a fair point. She pitifully crossed her arms over her chest as she pouted. "Well _don't_ do that without warning me first. Some girls don't like being manhandled by creatures that can crush them like a Coke can even in a weakened state."

"I will keep that in mind," he blandly noted.

Frankie scoffed, turning her head away from him. "No you won't," she bitterly whined.

* * *

Miles down the stretching roads of America, Frankie stared out the window at the passing street lights. Uneven asphalt and peppered potholes jostled the bus around like the yolk inside an eggshell.

Castiel sat in his seat with a frustrated scowl etched into his sunken face. He looked years older than he appeared. Or rather, than Jimmy appeared. He was probably eons old, but Frankie wasn't at all invested enough in his angelic livelihood to care.

He had made such a big deal over not teleporting that she considered leaving his ass at the bus station. He bitched for a solid five minutes and that was more than enough for her to start walking away. He swooped in and picked her back up, sending her back into a kicking and screaming fit. Strangers looked at the scene with curiosity and concern, but avoided the confrontation that came with a tall, imposing creep restraining a young girl that looked like a genuine gremlin with her distorted face. She wouldn't want to get involved either.

But because of their reluctance to interfere, Castiel carried her into the bus and sat her down in the very back, making it near impossible to swiftly escape without fumbling over the long aisle. Dick.

So they sat in silence in the darkness of the shuttle among the ten other equally stoic passengers. They had quite a few more hours before they reached Wellington, and Frankie was _bored_.

She was in a smelly bus, sitting next to an angel that she hated, and she had nothing to do for hours except worry over the lives of her family. They were in real danger and she was sitting on her ass and waiting for the next road sign to say "OHIO".

The only thing to do in that godforsaken bus was talk to the creature next to her, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. She was sure it was the last thing he wanted to do, too. Damn him, and damn his ambitions. They ruined everything.

She had a good thing brewing. He was protecting her because he cared, and after the apocalypse they would grow a tight bond and he would join her growing/diminishing family, saving people and hunting things. They would watch movies on the weekends and eat cheap food every day. They would go on fishing trips with her brothers and go to dingy county fairs. She would teach him everything she knew about cryptids and monsters and he could teach her Enochian. They would be friends. _Best_ friends. But he had to ruin it by being a lying, manipulating, goddamn _angel_.

Sure, trick a girl into believing her life was actually valuable. Convince her she could do so much more than fuck things up. That was totally cool.

' _You believe_ you _could stop the apocalypse?'_ he had incredulously asked, an amused twinkle in the corners of his eyes. That was it, wasn't it? The moment she should have picked up that he was leading her on? And she missed it, because she was such a damn drunk!

Damn him.

And yet something itched in her memory. That moment at the old house when he didn't tell Bobby where she was. He could have taken advantage of that moment, informed him of where she was, had him come pick her up, tell him right there on the phone all of her secrets and call it a day. If they needed help so bad, why didn't he ask for it then and there?

She caught her lip between her teeth and patted her fingertips on her thighs.

There was a reason for it. A selfish reason. He probably thought Bobby would pick up on the fact that he was plotting something and didn't want to risk his scheme to be foiled. Maybe Sam and Dean were easier to fool than Bobby. Yeah, that was probably it.

She flicked her eyes over to the dour angel that was staring blankly ahead.

It wasn't that big of a deal. She didn't need to know why. She should be thinking about how she was going to save her brothers. She didn't have her machete or her revolver so she'd have to get smarter.

But with every recitation of each spell she knew, that itchy memory appeared in her skull. With every thought of which monster could be behind their kidnapping, Castiel's voice echoed in her mind. With every attempt to purge it from her memory, it came back stronger.

She huffed, annoyed at her dwelling ass, and turned her head over to Castiel. "Hey," she spoke quietly, not wanting to alert the other passengers. Castiel slightly moved his head in her direction, but didn't point his eyes to her. "Hey, why, uh…," her voice cut itself off, knowing much more than herself that it was a stupid, meaningless question. "Forget it. Never mind." She twisted her head to the side and forced her pupils to gaze out of the window.

His pressed lips and icy, contemplative eyes wouldn't erase from the backs of her eyelids.

"No, not never mind," she sighed, turning back towards the angel. He now glanced at her, though there wasn't much to be seen in the dim lighting of the bus. "I gotta know, why didn't you out me to Bobby?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "I mean, you coulda told him right then where I was and that you found me. You coulda told him I sold my soul if you wanted. So… why didn't you?"

This was so stupid. Why would she ask him that? There wasn't any good reason. And even if there was, why would she want to know? He was an asshole, and chances were he was going to lie anyway just to fuck with her mind again.

He was quiet for quite some time. She couldn't see his face, but she imagined him rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue out at her like the goddamn jerk he was, the bastard.

"You didn't want me to."

Frankie recoiled so violently that her shoulder bumped into the window. "Uh… u-uh, what? I didn't want you to? That's the story you're going with?"

His silhouette straightened in his seat. "I don't understand."

Frankie rolled her eyes, nearly sticking her tongue out at the stupid fuck. "I'm not an idiot, Castiel. Okay, I know you don't listen to anyone except yourself or God. Okay? Why the hell would you wait for me to give you _consent_ to tell my family where I am?"

"I have always waited for consent."

Frankie's face scrunched into a tight glower in the dark. "Bullshit. That's pure bullshit."

Castiel's lungs expelled a long, heavy sigh. "I suggested that it would be best to withhold your purpose from your brothers. You agreed, reluctantly. I made sure you consented to me touching your soul even though _I_ was reluctant. I suggested we seek out God's help for you. You agreed. I informed you that it was best to stay away from your brothers' fight. You didn't like it, but you understood my reasoning and agreed. When I visited you in your motel rooms, I made sure you were well taken care of and had everything you needed, something you encouraged me to do despite your sudden aggravation with me."

Frankie was glad it was dark in the bus. Her eyes lost their glare as realization bled into them.

She shook her head and inhaled a deep breath into her lungs, trying to rebuild her solid wall of indignation. "I didn't give you consent to carry me." The seconds that ticked on without a word from the angel made the hairs on the back of her neck stiffen.

"Then I will ask next time," he spoke, low and steady.

He turned his head forward, blocking off any other attempts of conversation. Frankie turned her head back out of the window, tightening her crossed arms.

He was so full of shit.

And yet she somehow felt like the goddamn jerk.

She hugged herself as she leaned against the window, pressing her forehead into the glass. The world sped passed her, and all she could think about was Castiel's bullshit, and how worried she was over her brothers. Her eyes fluttered closed to the tune of a flustered sigh, and the world was soon quiet for however brief a time.

* * *

Her body lurched forward, her face violently smacking into worn leather. She yelped as her butt reconnected with her seat and her hands flew to her face. She cradled her throbbing nose and stinging cheek in shaking hands. What a rude fucking awakening.

She opened her eyes and scanned the bus. It had come to a sudden halt that jerked everyone forward. It was made apparent by the melody of disgruntled passengers and the cursing driver.

She cursed, too, as she looked over to the angel sitting next to her. Only he wasn't there.

Her heart skipped a beat. Did he leave her?!

"We have to go."

She started, twisting her head to see him let go of the emergency stop at the back of the bus. She shook her head in confusion. "What the hell man?"

"We must move quickly," he grunted, voice brimming with urgency. Before she could question him again, he grabbed a hold of her arm and lifted her from her seat. She barely reached her cane before he hoisted her to her feet. "Will you let me carry you?"

Frankie blinked at him. "Wha- no!" He tightened his jaw in frustration. "Slow down! Tell me what's going on! Why'd you stop the bus?"

Castiel contained his frazzled demeanor enough to muster a calm voice. "I'm picking up a powerful presence nearby. Seeing as we've reached Wellington, I assume it has something to do with Sam and Dean."

Frankie's eyes went owl-shaped. She pointed them out of the windows at the now bleakly lit morning outside. They were close. And they were with something powerful enough for Castiel to pick up on. Several forms of dread called her chest home.

"Now," he continued, regaining her gaze, "will you let me carry you?" he asked, voice more insistent. The urgency that was pooling in his voice was quickly multiplying in her brain. She gave a single hesitant nod before he leaned down and picked her up the same as before. He quickly made his way off the bus and rushed down the street, ignoring the drizzle falling from the heavens. Frankie brought a hand up to her brows to shield her eyes from the pecking raindrops.

* * *

"Thank yo-!" Frankie barely managed to say to the taxi driver before Castiel slammed the door shut. She was glad she remembered to throw a few dollars in cash at him before the angel dragged her out of the car.

The taxi drove off, manifesting a cloud of dirt that swirled into her lungs. She waved a hand in front of her face as she coughed and opened her eyes to the new location Castiel led them to.

And there she was. The Impala: sleek and misted with fresh raindrops that shrouded her in a heavenly twinkle.

Her heart sank. They found her brothers. She was one step closer to the inevitable crash of her entire life.

Tearing her eyes away from the Impala, she forced her focus back on rescuing them and finally glanced at this oh-so mysterious location Castiel said the powerful surge was coming from.

An abandoned paper mill.

"Dammit," Frankie groaned. "I've about had it with abandoned warehouses." Castiel carefully set her down onto her foot. She hopped on top of the gravel before balancing herself on her makeshift cane. "I can't afford _another_ broken ankle. I mean, I guess I could, but I literally can't afford a wheelchair."

The duo stepped up to the wide-stretching, disheveled building. Frankie swallowed as her eyes traced the broken windows and peeling sidings of the mill. She looked down at a pile of discarded tires lying next to her and poked at one with her cane.

"Seems pretty quiet. That's a bad sign," she gravely noted.

"It's warded."

Frankie snapped her head over to Castiel, the angel furrowing his brows at the building. "What?"

He lifted his hand and pointed to something unseen to the girl along the windows. "Enochian. It's written over this entrance. I can't get inside. Not through here."

Had flies been buzzing around them, Frankie's mouth would have caught twenty. She attempted and failed to close her suspended jaw. "You… can't get inside. You can't save my brothers?!"

"I just need to find another way in. There must be something. A tunnel, a ventilation system… I'll find a way." Frankie's nostrils whistled a sigh of disbelief, but that doubtful fit was short lived when Castiel turned to her with a laden gaze. "This would be the moment where I'd tell you that you must wait here and keep watch. Anything but go inside." Frankie went rigid. "But examining your recent actions when faced with that notion, you tend to do the opposite in extreme degrees. So… I won't ask you to stay."

Her eyes narrowed, pupils sparkling with apprehension.

She should be thrilled at the idea. After all, that was one of the reasons that she ran away from her brothers, so they could stop dictating her life so scrupulously, and now he wasn't giving her that spiel. And yet when Castiel practically gave her the opportunity, a piece of her brain – a rather big piece – wished he hadn't.

It wasn't because she was afraid or thought herself incapable (she had run into dangerous situations before and she was more incapable then with two working ankles). It wasn't even due to her injuries. It was because of what she'd go in to find. Not the bastard that took her brothers, but her brothers themselves.

When they defeated the menace and called it a day, when she was left alone with Sam and Dean, what was to be said? What would be the first thing out of their mouths when they laid eyes on her? What would be the first thing she'd say? And at what point was she supposed to tell them the truth? The _entire_ truth?

That was the moment she was dreading. That was what was keeping her feet in the gravel, what tucked her toes into the soles of her shoes, what kept her _planted_.

She wasn't ready to see them. Not in whatever shape or form they were going in to find.

Castiel stepped towards the girl, his cobalt irises having a heavy weight shackled into them. The oddity of the sight cleared a small hole in Frankie's cloudy conscience. "All I ask is that you be careful."

She blinked baffled at the angel. Did she hear him right? After weeks of saying that she needed to stay as far away from danger as possible, now he was letting her take that chance with no fight?

Her lips tried for several responses and finally utter one after a few startled seconds. "What about all that mess of needing to protect me? Of needing me to be as far away from danger as possible?"

He bowed his head, a defeated look to his lowered shoulders. "If we are to save your brothers, we must separate. And as I said before, there is a good chance I will die. Your chances don't appear much better than my own." Frankie shuffled her feet in the gravel at the unnerving and accurate point. "They are your brothers. I don't expect you to resist the urge to help them, even with your ailments. And I will admit that I admire that in you. You're a strong-willed person, Frankie."

' _Goddammit, stop trying to compliment me, you bastard!'_ Frankie scolded in her mind as she adjusted the grip on her cane.

"If we meet inside, I will protect you with all my powers. Until then, you will be on your own. I expect you to use what Dean taught you. He is an excellent teacher."

Frankie could practically hear her heart cracking as she nodded her head. "He is. Really. I wouldn't trade him for anyone. Not even Mr. Miyagi." When Castiel tilted his head like a confused puppy, Frankie shook her head with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Castiel lingered his pained gaze on the girl. In his tortured eyes, Frankie saw every bit of his reluctance to leave her. She saw the dread it brought him to break his promise. Too bad it was all fake. An act to make her feel bad.

Dammit, it was working.

The angel's eyes flicked to the ground between them, his shoulders growing rigid. "I hope to see you alive after this."

Frankie swallowed and lowered her head, tossing her gaze to the puny piles of gravel between them. "Me, too."

Castiel turned and walked away, his trench coat fluttering behind him like the cape of a vigilante. Frankie watched as his figure traveled down the length of the building and dissolved behind the corner, disappearing from her view.

Now she was left with the decision that would define the rest of her life. After all, if she chose to go inside she would be risking meeting her death. But what scared her far more than her own death was the death of her brothers before their time. Screw her pathetic life. They had work to do, with or without her.

She heard the second crack form in her chest.

She picked the Impala's lock once more, whispering a quiet apology to her as she raided Sam and Dean's trunk of weapons. An old Glock and a lengthy dagger were her choices of protection from whatever was so powerful that Castiel could pick it up miles away. It was easy to choose a line of defense when it wouldn't even matter whether or not she had it.

She closed the trunk and gazed at the door to the warehouse. A cold chill prickled her skin, making her hair stand up. She shoved the dagger in the back of her jeans where her machete would have been, the nearly familiar cold weight soothing her to the slightest degree. She held the gun in one hand as she limped to the door with her cane in the other.

' _There's no way this is gunna work. You're a terrible fighter. You're a complete disappointment of a hunter. You can't even stand straight and this thing has even Castiel spooked. You're walking into your death, you know that? Why the fuck are you doing this bullshit?'_

Frankie gulped as she stood a foot away from the door. She nodded her head, gripping the Glock tighter in her fingers. "For Dean," she whispered. She quickly clutched the handle and threw open the door, rushing inside before she could change her mind.

The world was not right.

It was too bright. It was quiet. It was still.

Too still.

She stood on tiled floors, the sickeningly familiar stench of disinfectant burning her nostrils. Blinding fluorescents were above her, their annoying buzzing silent. Bodies surrounded her, some wearing long, white coats and others decked in uniforms of light blue. The walls around her were not weather worn and smashed through, but instead a smooth, clean tan motif that harbored a sign in polished silver lettering, "Seattle Mercy Hospital" over a busy help desk.

Frankie was suddenly thrust into a hospital, and as if that wasn't odd in its entirety, the hospital's staff and clients were all frozen. Not as if they had just bitten into a York Peppermint Patty, but as if they were frozen _in time_. Not a soul moved.

"What the hell?" she muttered under her breath, stepping further into the hallway. Exactly two seconds ago she was standing outside a decaying paper mill and after stepping foot into its front door she was now standing in the middle of a well-funded hospital with petrified inhabitants.

She walked down a stationary hallway, her cane clicking against the tiled floor. As she passed each statuesque body, she hit them with the side of her broomstick. None of them flinched. It was like they weren't even alive.

She began asking the most obvious questions as she traveled deeper into the alien environment. How the hell did she get there? Did she go through a magic door? And why was it inside a paper mill? What was the significance of that specific warehouse? Where was this powerful being at? And _where were Sam and Dean?!_

"Frankie?"

She seized up like she had been shot. Every muscle constricted, halting her movement, freezing _her_ in time.

That was Sam's voice.

She went to swallow, but she forgot how. Her brain sent signals to her neck to turn, but it was defiant. She stood as still as a statue – as still as everyone else around her – terrified of what she would see if she looked to the right.

"Is that you?"

That was Dean's. Her mind was screaming with demands to turn her head, to prove that it was real.

Her muscles finally obeyed, and she turned her neck towards their voices.

Sam and Dean stood at the end of the hallway wearing hospital uniforms complete with long white coats. Their mouths were parted, eyes bulging as they scanned her form. Disbelief sketched them like a four year old's coloring book. Their eyes drank in the uncanny sight of her swollen face and her favoring of her left foot. Her heart yearned for fresh air the longer she gazed at their agonized faces, mixtures of relief, disbelief, and fear tormenting them.

But there was one more figure that was among the crowd, one that wasn't frozen, but was also wearing a white coat and was standing in between her brothers. A stranger, a man with untamed brown hair and the smug, wild face of a loan shark, turned around to face what had caused such a reaction out of Sam and Dean.

Unfamiliar exasperated eyes blanked. The firmly set frown slackened, incredulously dropping his jaw. The once unburdened posture of the stranger whipped into the attentive form of an animal's when its fight or flight instinct was triggered.

This was the face of a man – or being – that simply could not believe what he was seeing was real.

Frankie's own fight or flight instinct was triggered. That had to be the douche nozzle that kidnapped her brothers, so why the hell was he looking at her like they had an unsavory meeting in a past life?

The stranger seemed to recognize how out of sorts he was and cartoonish-ly shook his head to regain his thoughts. He hardened his features, returning to the all-business scowl he wore when he first showed his arrogant mug. He lifted his hand next to his head.

Frankie's eyes narrowed on his fingers positioned to snap.

And then he snapped his fingers with an echoing clap.


	34. Chapter 33 - Destiny

With a rush of wind and her head whirling, Frankie was in the hospital no more. She blinked her eyes as she looked at the new world around her. Gone were the tiled floors and bright fluorescent lights. In their place was a red carpeted floor and dim mood lighting. The frozen hallways were replaced with a leather couch and a mini bar to her right. In front of her was a small table, a television resting dormant on top.

She violently sucked air into her lungs, the suddenness of her new location finally catching up to her. She began gasping in panic as she realized what had just happened.

That bastard teleported her with a snap of his fingers. This guy was not a joke.

Castiel couldn't teleport her without touching her, and now this guy did it with one small action at his fingertips. What else could this thing do? Well, he could turn the inside of a paper mill into a fucking hospital and a… where the hell was she?

Frankie twisted her body to examine the significantly smaller room. It looked like a waiting room at Trump Tower. Why would that thing send her there? Whatever, that didn't matter. She had to get out of there and save her brothers before it did anything to hurt them.

She tightened her grip on her cane and stepped forward towards the door.

But there wasn't a door.

Her blood stilled, her chest growing icy cold. She whipped her head to the other wall. No door. The other wall. No door. _The other wall- no door_!

She was trapped, trapped inside a four wall luxurious prison.

Frankie's panicked gasping turned into terrified hyperventilating. She rushed over to the nearest wall, padding her hands over it. There had to be an exit! She couldn't be trapped! She smacked her hands against the walls and shouted at the top of her lungs.

"SAM! DEAN!" she screamed, knowing that they most likely couldn't hear her over their own torture. She twisted and pressed her back against the wall, suddenly feeling extremely claustrophobic. The walls were closing in on her. Was it the thing's doing or her own mind? Oh, it didn't matter! She had to get out of there!

She limped to the other side of the room and did the same as before, slapping and screaming at the top of her lungs. She screamed until her lungs burned and her hands stung. She pressed her forehead against the wall. Hopelessness was tapping on her shoulder, but she refused to turn her head.

"Knock, knock!" a sudden voice chimed.

Frankie yelped and twirled around, shoving her body as close to the wall behind her as she could.

There stood the stranger. His white coat was shed and he now wore jeans and a red and black flannel shirt covered by a Russian green jacket. Everything from the neck up was the same, including his unbound light brown hair, his firm eyebrows tucked above penetrating champagne eyes, and his soft stubble-peppered jaw. A new and unwelcomed addition, however, was his sideways smirk, one that promised mischief and absolute danger.

"Your line is, 'Who's there'," he jokingly whispered.

Frankie was speechless, which was a good thing, because she had absolutely nothing to say to the asshole except swears. She bristled when he slowly stepped forward, his eyes as still and steady as the hospital staff's.

"Well, well," he slowly tsked, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, " _well_. If it isn't Frankie 'Lane."

Her blood curdled. Her honey eyes swelled, glaring disconcerted daggers at the man.

"What the hell did you just say?" she breathed, her voice no more than a whisper.

"I was wondering when we'd finally meet and make merry," the stranger continued, ignoring her question. He shook his head, his eyes never leaving her own. "Gotta be honest, didn't think it'd be today. Didn't think it'd be this year." His feet stopped in the middle of the room. "Or _ever_."

Frankie was trembling, and she tried to keep it out of her voice as she straightened her back and hardened her scowl. "Who the hell are you?" she asked, her voice heavy and cautious.

The stranger's eyes finally left hers and reached for the ceiling, a pondering look in his pursed lips. "Your brothers know me as 'The Trickster'."

Her breath hitched. This guy wasn't playing around. He not only knew who she was, but knew who Sam and Dean were to her. Was this one of the demons? Or an angel? Or – God forbid – _Lucifer_?!

She swallowed hard and struggled to keep a steady gaze. "Who do _you_ know you as?"

His intense eyes flicked back down to her own. His lips stretched into an amused smirk, sending chills down Frankie's spine. He turned to the couch beside him. "What brings you to Ohio, Frankie?" he asked, setting himself comfortably down on the couch. He stretched out his arms along the back and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "Wait, let's go back further. When did you leave Alabama?"

Frankie's nails dug into the wall behind her. "Who are you? _Really_. How do you know who I am?"

His brows dug into his face, his head cocking to the side. Her question seemed to confuse him, and that confused her.

"Hm," he hummed. "I woulda thought the _Ringling Brothers_ woulda told you who I was before coming here. They didn't mention anything about me?"

Frankie clenched her teeth as tightly as she could, preventing herself from mentioning their separation. The pressure of the clenching gave her a sharp headache that shot through her skull, causing her to visibly wince.

"Ah! I see. You weren't _with_ them when they came here." Frankie started, recoiling against the wall. "It was _you_ they were out looking for when they came sulkin' into town. Now it all makes sense."

"Wait, wait, hold on," Frankie blurted, shaking her hand at the stranger. "Just answer my question already! Who are you and how do you know me?! I won't ask again!"

"Yes you will," he said blankly. It caught Frankie off guard, throwing off her hostile façade. The stranger lifted a brow before taking his feet off the table and leaning forward, an almost excited glint in his eyes. "Let's play a game."

Frankie shook her head, a helplessly confused look reaching her face. "What?"

"A game! You ask me one question, I'll answer it. Then I ask you a question, and then you answer it. Easy peasy!"

"Game?" Frankie repeated, still trying to catch up with this strange man.

He held up both index fingers, stressing his words' importance. "Here's the rules. No double questions. One per turn. And you _have_ to answer the question. If you don't, you lose. Simple, right?"

Frankie slightly shook her head. "Hell no. I've seen Saw. I don't just _play games_ with strangers."

"Oh, come on! You used to be so free spirited! Where's your sense of fun?" He lifted a stark brow. "Didja lose that, too?"

Frankie's face dimmed. She had no idea what he was referring to with that question and she didn't want to know. She puffed out a frustrated huff as she placed her free hand on her hip.

"What happens if I lose?"

The 'Trickster' shrugged and gestured around the room. "You stay in my Green Room and continue slapping the walls." He linked his hands and rested them in his lap, his smile darkening. "Forever."

Frankie squeezed her cane, gripping it tight to keep her rising fear down. "And if I win?"

The man's smirk widened. "Whuduya want?"

The girl stood up straight, her face re-growing her menacing glare. "I wanna see my brothers, you bastard!"

Her outburst did not get the effect she wanted. The Trickster threw his head back in a barking laughter, his annoying chuckling bouncing noisily off the walls. He ceased his laughter with an amused sigh as he returned his eyes to hers. Those eyes clouded over with something dark, something almost sinister.

"Deal," he said, his voice noticeably lower. Frankie shivered. The way he said that word hit her in an uneasy way. It sounded purposeful, as if he knew that word strummed an unnerving string within her. She gulped as he rose from the couch.

He walked over to the bar and grabbed a glass. "You go first," he said, beginning to mix a drink for himself.

"Who are you, for real?" she spat, not missing a beat.

The man groaned. "Come on. That's too easy. Gimme a hard one." Frankie bore her eyes into his whining face, causing him to dramatically sigh like a prepubescent girl. " _Fine_. I am The Trickster."

"No, who-"

"Ah, ah, ah! No double questions! Wouldn't wanna lose the game before it starts, would ya?" The girl leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest with a pestered scowl. This guy was beginning to annoy her more than scare her. "Now it's my turn," he continued, taking a sip from his concoction. "How long have you known Sam and Dean Winchester?"

Frankie lifted a brow. Only now did she realize how dangerous this game was. It was obviously a childish way to get info out of her, and she had decided to play along. She shouldn't tell him a damn thing!

But… this guy was really powerful. And he had the power to lock her in that room forever if she didn't play along. So she had to play along. But that didn't mean she had to play nice.

"A while." The Trickster hesitated to sip his drink. He then hummed, took a swig, and then rounded the bar, making his way back to the couch. "Why are you holding them hostage in… whatever this place is?"

"To teach them a lesson. A very important lesson." Sitting back on the couch, he crossed his legs on the coffee table and linked his fingers, laying them on his stomach. "How'd you run into them?"

Frankie's eyes flicked to the floor, remembering every detail from that day, the day she set all this into motion. "I was looking for John. My father. I found Sam and Dean instead." The Trickster nodded his head, his lips pursed as he processed her answer. "Are you going to kill my brothers?" she asked, her voice faintly cracking. Violent chills surged in her spine as the man looked up to the ceiling in thought, humming as he considered the idea.

"Nah. Not today." Frankie swallowed to mask her relieved breath. The Trickster tapped his chin, thinking of another question. "If you care about those bozos enough to go up against someone like _me_ ," he pretentiously lifted his chin and pompously held his hand on his chest, "then why'd you run away from 'em?"

He was staring at her now, carving his eyes into her vulnerable irises. She felt miniscule under his gaze. It was as if that impaling look, those pressed brows and stormy eyes, was staring right into her soul. She hoped to God he couldn't see it.

"I… have my reasons," she hesitantly answered. "Why're you keeping me in this room if you're only here for them?"

"Well you got in my way. Had to take you off the board before you jacked up my pieces." He adjusted his body, sinking deeper into the couch. With one tap of his finger against his glass, the drink refilled with the same beverage he made at the bar. "What _specific_ reasons made you run away from your brothers?"

She glowered at his smug grin as he sipped his drink. "Look, I…," she turned her head away, hugging her arms tighter. "I didn't wanna hurt them."

The Trickster scoffed. "Hurt _them_? Look, I don't think Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum could be brought down by _you_."

"Well physically, no, I don't stand a chance. But I've done things I would give anything to take back and if they ever found out those secrets I'd seriously hurt them! That's why I ran. I couldn't bear the thought of seeing their faces when they figured them out."

Shit. She spilled it. Goddamn word vomit!

She shook her head, trying to move as quickly away from the subject as she could. "How do you know how to ward against angels?"

The Trickster's brows shot up. He hummed in amusement. "That's an interesting question. Kudos. I'm old. I've picked up a thing or two on how to protect myself. Can't be too careful in the wake of the apocalypse." Frankie nodded her head, huffing out an agreeing sigh. "What secrets?"

Frankie blinked her eyes into his own. It was as if he never looked away, that same intense gaze glued to her. Her chest couldn't decide if it was frigid and icy or burning like the sun.

"My…"

' _Dammit, Frankie. Why do you get yourself into these situations?'_

"My soul." She placed an idle hand over her chest. "I sold it. For ten years of health." The Trickster was dead silent. His muscles were as frozen as the hospital staff's. "Were you expecting something else?"

He was quiet for a small moment, sitting as rigid as ever, before he flicked his eyes to the glass in his hands. "Honestly? No. I didn't exactly anticipate that answer, but it's not unlike a Winchester to sell their soul for something stupid." The man took his legs off of the table and placed them on the floor. He sat straighter on the couch. "What's the other secret?"

Frankie blinked, confused. "What?"

"You said secrets. You gave me one secret." Without moving his head, he darted his eyes into hers. "What's the other one?"

She was backed into a corner. _Literally_. She'd have to tell him about the brand on her soul, but how could she when it wasn't even real? It was a ploy created by Castiel to keep her looking for a purpose that wasn't there. It wasn't the truth. But the Trickster didn't know that. Still, what horrors could he unleash on her with such – fabricated – information?

Deciding there was nowhere else to go, and having no fucks left to give in such an absurd situation, Frankie sighed and lowered her head. "Go ahead and get a laugh ready, 'cause you'll need it for this one," she spat. "I am important to Heaven. My soul is branded by archangels or something. I'm a human to be protected. And yet my guardian angel, _Gabriel_ , is out doing God knows what. Actually, I don't even think God knows where he is either! Well he can go rot for all I care. If he wants to run off and avoid taking care of me like John did, then he can go shove that prissy horn of his up his tight, feathery asshole."

Frankie twisted her cane in her hand, stabbing splinters into her fingers. She gritted her teeth against the pinching, nearly welcoming the pain.

Even though it was Castiel's fault, Gabriel wasn't saved from her hatred. He ran away from his family, much like she did. He wasn't any better than she was, and if she hated herself then her loathing for that motherfucker was beyond comprehension. Damn him.

"Why're you important?" the Trickster asked in a different voice than before. It was quieter, more serious.

Frankie went to tell him that she didn't know, but her throat held back her words. It registered what just happened before her brain did, and when her mind caught up, her face blanked and pointed at the powerful stranger across from her.

"You… you just double questioned." There was a split second of confusion in his face before it fell into a defeated frown. Her voice trembled with laughter. "Double questions! You lose! You lose at your _own_ _game_! I win!"

"Mazel tov," the man deadpanned.

Her joy from her victory was short-lived, and she dropped her amused grin in favor of a deadly glare. "Now give me my winnings."

The Trickster held up his hands, accepting his defeat with a lax grin. His eyes, however, harbored something she hadn't seen from him yet. It wasn't anger or mischief or even that slight fear of recognition from the hospital. It was something utterly new and uncomfortable. Something joyless, something grim.

"A deal's a deal. You win. Congratulations." The Trickster raised his hand towards the TV across from him. He shaped his hand as if he were holding a remote and pretended to click an invisible button.

The TV immediately hissed to life and displayed a bright and colorful screen. Frankie furrowed her brows in confusion as the screen showed a Japanese game show. The host recited a question in Japanese to two contestants presented on platforms, their feet locked into place.

Her eyes widened when she recognized those two contestants.

"Uh… what am I supposed to say?" Sam asked to Dean on the other platform.

"You think I know?" Dean asked, frustrated.

Sam leaned over to the game show's host, voice jumbled and panicky. "Uh, I-I don't- I-I don't understand, uh, Japanese!"

"What the hell is this?" Frankie confusedly question, turning to glare at the stranger. "I told you I wanted to see my brothers!"

He leaned back on the couch, his hands resting behind his head with a smug grin stretching across his face. "And you are. You can see 'em right there."

"That's not what I meant, you douchebag!"

The man pointed at his face, finger circling his entire head. "Hello," he sang, " _Trickster_!"

Frankie's fists bundled up, ready to go over and sock him right in his mug, but a loud buzzer from the TV brought her attention back to her brothers. The countdown on the clock had ended, and the host gazed to the floor in disappointment.

"I'm sorry, Sam Winchester."

"Sorry?" Sam nervously echoed. "Sorry for what?"

The host slyly looked into the camera and brought a hand up to his mouth, bashfully giggling.

"Dean?" Sam whispered before a huge ball attached to a spring-loaded lever broke free from its bonds on the platform and socked him directly into the crown jewels.

Frankie gasped as she watched Sam lurch forward, holding his unmentionables as the audience cheered and roared. Dean held his fist to his mouth in disbelief as the game show host made a punching motion into the air while screaming, "Nutcracker!" The entire scene was chaotic anarchy, complete with bright, flashy lights and jazzy, upbeat music. In the background, the Trickster was in a laughing fit, the jarring noise making her head spin.

Frankie shook her head, apprehension for her brothers seeping out of every pore in her body. "This is torture! What lesson is this teaching?!"

"A very entertaining one," the stranger chuckled.

Frankie marched over to the Trickster with a cold glare on her concerned face. "Why are you doing this? What beef do you have with them to humiliate them like this?!"

The Trickster's laughing ceased. His eyes froze over, turning colder than her own. His amused grin flattened. "Beef? What beef do I have with your brothers?" He stood from the couch, towering over her. The fear she lost crawled back down her throat, refusing to let her swallow. "They set off the apocalypse. They started everything bad that's about to happen. And I have to watch it unravel. Because of _them_." He gestured wildly into the air, his voice rising. "And now they refuse to take responsibility for what they've done, and they're letting millions of people die because of their precious pride."

Frankie cowered under his scowl, and his words. She knew Sam and Dean didn't want to kill all those innocent people. They wanted to find another way to stop the apocalypse, one that didn't end with a scorched planet and them becoming vessels for archangels. But many didn't seem to see it that way, including the powerful being that held all three of their lives in his hands.

Loud banging came from the TV, drawing both of their attentions to the screen. The two blue double doors behind Sam and Dean burst open, unleashing a cloud of fog. Through the fog, a familiar figure appeared.

Castiel stormed onto the stage, gazing around at the odd location. Frankie's heart jumped in her chest, relieved to see he hadn't yet been mangled or beaten to death.

"Cas?" Dean blurted, shocked at the angel's sudden appearance. The game show host held his hands up in a karate formation while shouting an incoherent warning against the newcomer.

"Is this another trick?" Sam anxiously questioned.

"It's me," Castiel assured. "Uh, what are you doing here?" he asked the men, voice brimming with confusion.

"Us? What are _you_ doing here?" Dean came back.

"Looking for you. You've been missing for days."

"So, get us the hell outta here then!" Sam urgently exclaimed.

"Uhp. That's enough of that," the Trickster sighed, holding his hand up to the TV like before.

Castiel stepped up to Sam and Dean, outstretching his hands to touch both of their foreheads. "Let's go."

Before his fingers could touch them, the Trickster pretended to click his imaginary remote, and Castiel suddenly disappeared into static.

"Don't ya just hate those pesky pop-ups?" the stranger nonchalantly asked.

"W-What the hell?! What did you do to him?!" Frankie shouted, turning to face him again.

The Trickster shrugged, a sly grin making its way back onto his face. "Sent him to another channel. Wanna watch?"

Frankie's face fell as he clicked his invisible remote once more and the TV flicked to a different channel. The screen now showed a boxing ring, a roaring crowd surrounding the four ropes bordering the stage. In one corner stood a tall, hulking man in tight fitting shorts and huge red mitts on his hands. In the other corner stood Castiel, also wearing red mitts.

"I don't understand. Why am I wearing these gloves?" the angel asked the referee. He didn't get an answer to his question before the shrill ringing of the bell signaled the match's start.

The humongous opponent approached a very curious Castiel, and before the angel could properly react, the large man punched him right in the face. Castiel soared back into the corner and slumped to the ground.

"Stop this! Get him outta there!" Frankie cried out. She winced as Castiel lifted himself from the floor, a long cut now bleeding across his nose.

"What? Fight's just gettin' good," the Trickster joked. He broke out into an entertained chuckle as he watched the larger opponent deliver a hard kick into Castiel's stomach, the angel grunting out in genuine pain.

That was the final push. The bastard's laughter paired with the sight of Castiel's pain turned up the heat in her chest to a boil. She threw her cane to the side and grabbed the lapels of the Trickster's jacket. His laughter silenced when she yanked him towards her.

"You listen to me, you fucking twat-cicle. I have _had it_ with you torturing my brothers and my friend. I. Have. Had. It. Now you are gunna take me to see my brothers or, so help me God, I will destroy your cynical ass, you hear me?"

For a small moment, he nearly looked intimidated. Or was it amusement? Either way, he masked it behind an incredulous smirk. "Right. _You_ are gunna kill _me_. And how, pray tell, are you gunna pull that off, sunshine?"

Frankie's eyes darkened, her fists tightening around his jacket. "You said you're a Trickster, right? Well if you know me so well, you should know that I've studied your kind before. I know what kills you. A wooden stake drenched in the blood of one of your victims." The Trickster's eyes lost their joyous glow. "I _will_ get my hands on that and when I do, you better _watch your back_ , buddy."

He continued to stare down at the girl. He lifted a brow and hummed, seemingly impressed with her display of anger and determination. "You're feistier than I remember. I like it."

Frankie's mind blanked. What did he mean by 'remember'?"

"Fine. I've had my fun. I'll keep my end of the bargain, even though I already _have_." The Trickster raised his hand next his head and formed his fingers into a snap once more. Frankie's eyes widened, not knowing what he had in store, but was sure it wasn't good.

With a snap of his fingers, he disappeared, leaving her alone in the room. Panic flooded in her chest. No, no, no, she couldn't be left in that room again! Not again!

"Trickster!" she angrily screamed. No answer, not that she was expecting much. "Sam… Dean…," she breathed out, her breath coming out in short gasps. She was on the verge of hyperventilating. She couldn't breathe! She slowly backed up until she hit the wall.

But there wasn't a thud. The wall rattled.

She quickly turned around and came face to face with a door that hadn't been there before. Her heart jumped up into her throat and her hand flew to the doorknob.

But she hesitated. Who knew what would be behind that door? It could be anything. She could be transported to Saturn like in Beetlejuice for all she knew!

But the possibility of being one step closer to her brothers or Castiel was far too great to stay in the room. She held her breath – whatever amount of it she had left – and stormed through the door.

The other side was bright, but not so much as the hospital had been. And it wasn't quiet either. The strange sound of a live audience gasping met her ears, puzzling her. She gazed around the new room. The set of a sitcom, a bright motel room with one wall to the left being pitch black with the idle sounds of a captive audience mumbling from it.

"Frankie?"

Her head jerked forward.

There they were.

Sam and Dean stood beside a table with a large sandwich sitting on a plate resting on it. Her brothers had that same tortured gaze on their faces, breaking her heart. She went to speak, but her mouth simply formed a sad smile as her only greeting.

Dean stepped forward, his expression unchanging. Fear bubbled up in Frankie's chest. What was he going to say? What was he going to _do_? How was he going to punish her for running out on them? She considered running back into the Green Room.

Dean didn't stop when he had gotten too close. Frankie stepped back, but his arms stopped her from going far. He wrapped her into a tight hug, pressing her close to his body. The uniformed sound of the audience breaking out into a unanimous, "Aww," as Dean hugged his sister tightly emanated from the black abyss of the fourth wall.

Tears prickled in Frankie's eyes. His first reaction to seeing her after she butchered the case and ran away from them, avoiding them for weeks, was not to yell at her or shove her in anger, but was instead to hug her without a word. Perhaps he had no words to say, but that one hug spoke a million thoughts that stabbed her in her heart with joy.

She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his shoulder, tears wetting his jacket. His scent breezed into her nostrils. She remembered how much she missed the smell of sweat and leather that followed him around.

Dean pulled out of the hug, but held onto her shoulders, refusing to let her go. He gazed hard at her swollen features, wincing at how bruised and bloody she looked. "What the hell happened to you?"

Frankie felt blackness enter her chest. She now had to ruin the nice family reunion by telling him everything that had happened in the last few days.

Before she got a word out, however, the door behind her opened again. Castiel marched into the room, a chorus of cheers coming from the audience. Frankie's heart sank at the sight of the fresh cuts on his face.

"What the hell happened to _you_?" Dean repeated.

"I don't have much time," Castiel uttered out of breath.

"What happened?" Sam asked, worriedly.

"I got out."

"From where?" Dean questioned, his voice deep and serious.

"Listen to me," Castiel continued, "something is not right. This thing is much more powerful than it should be."

"What thing? The Trickster?"

"If it is a trickster."

Frankie felt like sinking into the floor. If what he was suggesting was true, then she just threatened the wrong monster.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, begging the question that was sitting in everyone's head.

Castiel gave him a serious glance, but before he could express his thoughts on whatever the hell they were dealing with, an unseen force yanked Castiel into the air and threw him against the wall. Frankie gasped out in shock as the angel's body sank to the floor like a stone.

"Hello!" chimed a cheery voice as its owner, the 'Trickster', jumped through the door. The invisible audience cheered for the stranger as Frankie, Sam, and Dean glared apprehensively at the man. Dean stepped forward and held an arm in front of Frankie, shielding her from the creature. "Thank you!" he said to the roaring audience, playfully pointing to a phantom fan. "Thank you! Please, stop!"

Castiel rose to his feet, eyes wide and glaring. His mouth was covered with duct tape, courtesy of the powerful bastard he was glaring daggers at. The Trickster glanced over to the angel, his eyes sparkling with amused glee.

"Hi, Castiel!" he greeted. The angel flicked his eyes over to Sam and Dean, silently telling them that something about the Trickster was definitely not right. But before Castiel could have the chance to rip off the duct tape, the Trickster waved his hand at him and turned him into static, making him disappear once more.

"You know him?" Sam anxiously asked, but Dean cut his brother off.

"Where did you just send him?" he grunted, a steely edge to his rough voice.

The Trickster dismissively waved. "Relax. He'll live." He impishly swung his arms at his sides, shooting them a mischievous grin. "Maybe." The live audience chuckled in response.

Fed up with the Trickster's bullshit _and_ the audience's constant input, Dean marched up to the man. "Alright, you know what? I'm done with the monkey dance. 'Kay? We _get it_."

"Yeah?" the Trickster muttered, tilting his head to the side. "Get what, hot shot?"

"Playing our roles, right? That's your game?"

"That's _half_ the game."

Sam stepped up to stand beside Frankie. "What's the other half?" he asked.

"Play your roles _out there_ ," the Trickster answered, gesturing to the side with his hands.

Dean shook his head, confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know!" The Trickster gestured to each brother, speaking in a dramatic show announcer's voice. "Sam starring as Lucifer, Dean starring as Michael." Suddenly it was all starting to make sense. "Your celebrity death match! _Play_ your _roles_!"

The whole point of this, the _lesson_ he was trying to teach, was for her brothers to say yes to Michael and Lucifer. The reason this powerful sonnuva bitch trapped Sam and Dean was to force them to jumpstart Armageddon. Frankie clenched her fists, pushing her splinters deeper into her palms.

"You want us to say 'yes' to those sons of bitches?" Sam exclaimed.

" _Hells_ yeah. Let's _light_ this candle!" the Trickster jauntily bellowed, appearing to be _excited_ for the apocalypse.

"We do that, the world will end!" Sam continued, speaking pointedly as if the creature didn't fully understand the consequences.

The Trickster flicked his eyes to Sam, his pupils clouding over with resentment. "Yeah? And… _whose_ fault is that? Who popped Lucifer outta the box?" He lifted a pointed brow. "Hm? Look. It's started. You started it! It can't be stopped, so let's get it over with!"

Frankie glowered. Who was this motherfucker and why did he care so much about her brothers? Who the hell was he to dictate how they settled the end of the world? Sure, he was right about them starting the whole thing, but they were trying to deal with it themselves!

But… they hadn't been doing that. Because they were looking for her. She distracted them from what was important, and because of that she led them right into the Trickster's trap. She should be the dick's plaything, not them.

She moved to step forward, to take responsibility for delaying the discovery of a solution to the end, but before she could utter a word, Dean spoke up against the creature.

"Heaven or Hell, which side you on?"

The Trickster smirked and shook his head. "I'm not on either side."

"Yeah, right," Dean disbelievingly muttered. "You grab an ankle for Michael or Lucifer which one is it?"

The Trickster's smile darkened as he stepped forward, humorlessly chuckling against Dean's taunting. "You listen to me, you arrogant _dick_. I don't work for either of those S.O.B.s. _Believe me_."

"Oh, you're somebody's bitch," Dean mocked.

Poor choice of words. In a heated moment, the Trickster grabbed Dean's shirt and swung him around, shoving him into the wall with great force. Frankie moved to march forward, but Sam's hand on her shoulder kept her next to him.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ presume to know what I am." Dean kept a stern face and tried to keep his struggled gasps quiet. The Trickster took a hand away from his chest, but still held him against the wall as if Dean weighed nothing. "Now listen very closely." The creature looked back towards Sam and Frankie, holding up a pointed finger. "Here's what's gunna happen. You're gunna suck it up, accept your responsibilities, and play the roles that _destiny_ has chosen for you."

"And if we don't?" Sam pressed. Frankie could hear the apprehension behind his challenging voice.

The Trickster's face broke into a wide grin, dangerous mischief hinted in the corners of his eyes. "Then you'll stay here in TV Land." His eyes flicked over to Frankie. "Forever." Chills ran up her spine at the thought of being under his pressing thumb for all eternity. "Three hundred channels and, uh," he sniffed, "nothin's on."

With a loud snap of his fingers, the world around them changed once again.

* * *

Stark flashes from cameras momentarily lit up the dark night they were thrust into. They stood in the middle of the forest at a crime scene, police tape and cops decorating the area. Red and blue lights danced on the leaves of the trees and reflected off of the black sunglasses that rested on her brothers' faces.

Sam and Dean stood side by side, wearing black suits and pissed off scowls. "Oh, come on," Dean grumbled, grimacing at the scene.

Frankie switched her gaze from her brothers to her own self. She sat on the back of an ambulance, her clothes tattered and bloody and her shoulders covered by a thin blanket.

' _Oh, Jesus Christ, I'm playing the goddamn victim!'_ she groaned in her head.

' _What else is new?'_ the cynical voice in her head sighed.

A man, a CSU investigator, approached Sam and Dean. "So, whuduya think?" he asked.

"What do I think?" Dean grumpily spat. "I think go screw yourself, that's what I think." The investigator glanced puzzled at the ticked off man, and Sam swooped in to alleviate the situation before his brother made it worse.

"Uh, could you give us a sec, please?" The investigator hesitantly nodded before backing up and returning to the dead body. Sam placed a firm hand on Dean's shoulder and leaned over to him. "You gotta calm down."

"Calm down?! I am wearing sunglasses at night," he snapped, snatching the glasses from his face. "You know who does that? No-talent douchebags!" Sam pulled an agreeing expression and nodded. "I hate this game. I hate that we're in a procedural cop show, you wanna know why? Because I _hate_ procedural cop shows!" Sam, tired of his brother's exhausted ranting, looked over his shoulder and noticed Frankie sitting in the ambulance. "There's like three hundred of them on television, there all the freakin' same! 'Ooo! Plane crashed here,' oh shut up!"

"Dean," Sam blurted, hushing his frustrated brother. He pointed behind him to the girl and began walking over to her. Dean turned around and, upon seeing his sister, calmed down and walked over to her.

As the two walked over, an officer with crooked teeth stepped up to them, stopping them before they reached the girl. "She's the only witness to the crime. She hasn't said a word since we found her." Her brothers look over his shoulder at Frankie. She was wide-eyed and glaring. There was no way she was playing a victim in the Trickster's damn TV show! "According to first responders, she fled the scene out of panic, but they tracked her down. Well, really she found them."

Frankie's eyes evened out, now staring blankly at the man. The wheels in her head began to turn, realizing that the officer was no ordinary officer.

"She's hiding something. You two should try and crack her before someone else gets hurt."

That sonnuva bitch. That goddamn sonnuva bitch! She was gunna throttle that bastard! The Trickster was blatantly leading them to figuring out her secrets, and she wouldn't stand for it.

Before she could get to her feet and pounce on the man, Sam and Dean walked over to her, giving each other a quick glance before turning their attention to her. Sam took out a notepad and a pencil.

"Uh, so… miss," he awkwardly began. He looked down at his notepad. "Uh… what am I supposed to even-?"

"Why'd you flee from the crime scene?" Dean sternly muttered. Frankie darted her eyes to his face, his gaze guarded by shining sunglasses once again. She could see her reflection in them. Her battered face showed fear.

Sam noticed her frazzled face. He leaned down to her, whispering in a comforting voice. "Just play along."

She shifted her gaze between the two. "U-Uh…" Her eyes lingered on Dean's unyielding face. Without seeing his irises lined with concern, he just simply looked pissed off at her. She tugged the blanket tighter around her body. "I-I dunno. I was…," she thought about how she felt leaving her brothers in that motel room in Montana, "… scared."

"Scared of what?" Sam asked. He wasn't using the fake, gritty voice of a procedural cop show character. It was his own voice, his soft, comforting voice that hurt her heart every time she heard it.

Frankie looked down at her hands, pink and calloused from gripping old wood. "Of someone finding out. Of someone… finding out about what I've done."

The three were quiet, and Frankie nearly prayed for them to say something. Anything.

This was the moment, wasn't it? She was going to tell them her secrets in the middle of a fake forest murder scene. Maybe she'd be murdered next if she spilled the beans. She wouldn't blame them.

Dean lifted a hand to his face and took of his sunglasses, gazing down at her with vexed eyes. She was relieved that they weren't filled with anger. "What did you do that you wouldn't want someone finding out about?" Now Dean had dropped the rough character speech in favor of his own low, concerned voice. If Sam's broke her heart, Dean's voice disintegrated it.

She bit the inside of her lip to hide its quivering. Her chest filled with blackness. It was like she was being possessed again. Her body felt like it was filled with sand, weighing her down. Her vision blurred with premature tears. She breathed in a trembling breath.

"Hey," Sam spoke. She lifted her head to the taller brother. He was looking off to the side, staring at the CSU investigator. He was sucking on a lollypop as he examined the body. "Check out 'sweet tooth' over there."

Dean's eyes lingered on Frankie. They were filled with uncertainty, puzzled as to why she looked so close to hysterically crying. But before he could question her further, he glanced over to the investigator.

"Think that's him?"

Sam held his sunglasses in his hands, fiddling with them anxiously as an idea softened his face. "Just, uh, follow my lead." He walked forward, moving towards the yellow police tape. Dean gave Frankie one last lingering look before following his brother and strutting into the crime scene like two procedural cops in a procedural cop show.

Frankie expelled a breath she wasn't sure she was holding in. That was too close, and she feared future moments like that would be even closer. The Trickster was a cold bastard, that was for sure. If not here in a cop show, he'd try it again in the next TV parody. And the next one. And he'd continued for all eternity until Sam and Dean said yes to Michael and Lucifer, which they weren't going to do.

The only logical thing to do was to go ahead and tell them all her secrets before it ate her alive. If they had forever in this hellhole, she didn't want to spend it being dishonest. If she was going to die, they were going to know about her deal. She was sure of that.

The startling sound of spewing blood and agonizing gurgling came from the crime scene. That was concerning as the murder should have already happened, but when she looked over she saw Dean yanking a long stake out of the investigator's chest. She violently gasped. They got the wrong guy!

They seemed to figure that out shortly after the body stopped twitching and squirming in pain and the bubbling throat quieted. Tickled laughter chimed from the other side of the scene, coming from the officer that informed Sam and Dean of 'the victim's' supposed 'secrets.'

As the laughter turned into mocking snickers, the face of the man morphed into the Trickster. "You got the wrong guy idiot!" he taunted, but that taunting was short lived when Sam, now standing behind the Trickster, revealed a stake of his own.

"Did we?" Dean came back as Sam reared back the stake.

He thrusted into the Trickster's back, the tip ripping through his chest and sparkling with fresh blood. The creature groaned in pain, grasping helplessly at his impaled heart, before falling to the floor, lying motionless in the grass.

The world suddenly fizzled with static and transformed into the inside of the disheveled paper mill, exactly how it should've looked when Frankie first entered. Their clothes turned back to normal, and Frankie found her cane casually lying on the floor next to the dead Trickster. She leaned down to pick it up, and smacked his lifeless body with it before she stood on her feet once more.

Sam, Dean, and Frankie shared a look of relief and of fear. The Trickster may have been dead, but his words were still very much alive in each of their memories.

* * *

They were in a motel room, Frankie sitting on a bed and Dean brushing his teeth in the bathroom while talking to Sam. Dean spit out a glob of toothpaste and saliva into the sink as he tapped his brush against the porcelain. "I'm worried man- what that S.O.B. did to Cas. You know, where is he?"

He walked into the main room, wiping his face with a cloth. He eyes flicked around the room, his face suddenly etching with confusion. His narrowed brows landed on Frankie. "Where's Sam?"

Frankie's face mirrored Dean's. She… didn't know. Where _was_ Sam? Where did he run off to? And when did they check into the motel? She didn't recall even getting into the Impala to leave. When did she sit down on the bed? Weren't they just at the paper mill?

"I don't know," she softly muttered.

Frankie walked outside with Dean as he tried to call Sam. "It's Sam. Leave me a message," his voicemail recited. Frankie aimed for her spot in the Impala as Dean approached the driver's seat.

"Sam. It's me," he spoke, ducking into the car with Frankie. "Where the hell did you go?" He ended the call and shoved his phone in his pocket as the girl buckled her seatbelt.

"Dean?" Sam's voice spoke. Dean and Frankie froze. His voice seemingly came from inside the car, but he wasn't anywhere to be seen. "Frankie?"

"Sam?" Dean called, looking in the backseat but only finding his sister.

"Where are you?" Frankie added, looking outside the window as if he was walking nearby.

"I dunno." Frankie and Dean's eyes snapped down to the Impala's console where a brand new system replaced her old setup. Her innards now appeared as they would have looked if she had been K.I.T.T. from _Knight Rider_. "Oh crap," Sam muttered, his voice flaring the module. "I don't think we killed the Trickster."

Frankie and Dean simultaneously leaned their heads back and groaned to the Impala's ceiling.

They were soon driving down the road, seemingly going nowhere. It wasn't like they had anywhere to go anyway. They were still stuck in the Trickster's toy box, and, because of that, were still powerless. They needed a new plan and fast.

"Okay, stake didn't work," Dean huffed, slipping into 'frustrated brainstorming mode'. "So what, this another trick?"

"I dunno," Sam answered. "Maybe the stake didn't work because it's not a trickster?"

Frankie cringed. She really hoped he was a trickster, and that she didn't threaten something far more powerful. She anxiously picked at the dried, calloused skin at the edges of her fingernails.

"Whuduya mean?" Dean grunted.

"You heard Cas. He said this thing was too powerful to _be_ a trickster."

Dean's brows furrowed as he recalled the Trickster's behavior at the sitcom set. "Yeah, you notice the way he looked at Cas?"

Frankie remembered that moment. She could still see the pestered amusement of coming face to face with the angel and tossing him around like a ragdoll. "Yeah. Almost like he knew him," she noted.

"And how pissed he got when you brought up Michael and Lucifer."

Dean's face lit up, but not in a joyous way. He sluggishly shook his head in frustration. "Sonnuva bitch."

"What?" Sam and Frankie asked in unison.

"I think I know what we're dealing with."

* * *

"That's good," Dean said, holding up a hand. On his command, Frankie stopped pouring the mysterious substance that smelled like rum and aging wood. She lifted her head as he pushed off of the wall of the secluded rest area Sam was parked at.

"So what's this stuff again?" she asked as Dean took the ancient vase away from her. He walked to the back of the Impala (er… Sam… she didn't know anymore) without a word. She got the off feeling that he was purposefully ignoring her. Even though he had every right to, it still punched a gaping hole in her chest.

"Don't think too much into it," Sam-pala answered for him. "It'll work. We, uh, we hope." Dean returned to the trunk and stowed the vase away into its designated place in his car. "Dean…," Sam muttered as his brother's hands rummaged the trunk.

"What?" Dean snapped, already sounding far too fed up with the plan and who they were trapping.

"That, uh… feels really uncomfortable."

Dean rolled his eyes and raised his hand to the trunk's lid. He slammed it in a way no other human could slam his car with a clank that echoed through the edge of the forest.

"Ow," Sam-pala uttered monotonously. Dean walked towards the invisible circle Frankie drew with the strange liquid as she settled herself next to the driver's side door. "You sure this is gunna work?"

"No, but I have no other ideas," Dean huffed, halting his feet and gazing angrily up to the sky. "Alright, you sonnuva bitch!" he roared to the Heavens. "Uncle! We'll do it!"

Frankie had been fine with what little of a plan was explained to her, but now that it was finally coming to fruition, she was very hesitant of it actually working out. This thing was smart, and it should be watching their every move. Who's to say it wasn't already five steps ahead of them? Calling it back to torture them more sat a little too heavily in her stomach.

"Should I honk?" Sam-pala sarcastically suggested. Dean twisted his head to glare at the car, but Frankie turned her head away to hide the tickled smirk that grew from that stupid-ass remark.

"Wow," the suddenly appearing Trickster extolled, gathering each of their gazes. "Sam, getta load of the rims on you," he teasingly commended as he rounded the glistening car.

"Eat me."

The Trickster whistled, rounding back to stand in front of the three. "Okay, boys." He nodded once to Frankie. "Girl." Her eyes flicked him off. "Ready to go quietly?"

"Woah, woah, woah, not so fast," Dean silenced. He gestured to his beloved car behind him as the Trickster smirked with devious glee. "No one's going anywhere until Sam has opposable thumbs."

The Trickster scrunched up his face in disagreement. "What's the difference? Satan's gunna ride his ass one way or another." Dean shuffled his feet in the gravel, cocking his head and tightening his fists in a promise to wreck the motherfucker's face if he made one more deadpanned quip about his brother.

The Trickster rolled his eyes and huffed like a petulant child. He snapped his fingers, and in an instant the roaming lights pacing the front of the Impala shut off. The passenger door opened and out came Sam, looking entirely ruffled and pissed off.

"Happy?" the Trickster spat. Sam irately slammed the door in response.

As Sam stepped up to stand next to his brother, Dean narrowed an accusatory glare on the smug grin of the creature. "Tell me one thing. Why didn't the stake kill you?"

The beast tilted his head, an impish smirk coloring his cheeks every shade of douche. "I am the Trickster!"

The cold clink of a lighter igniting quickly changed the mood of that smirk. "Or maybe you're not," Dean grunted. For the first time since their meeting, the Trickster's face bled trepidation.

Sam tossed the lighter at the Trickster's feet, causing the flame to flare once it hit the circle of suspicious liquid that Frankie drew. The Trickster now stood in the center of a circle of fire, the flames dancing fervently against his sneakers. His eyes snapped into Dean's glaring pupils.

"Maybe you've always been an angel."

Frankie blinked, her eyes transitioning from glaring to gawking in less than a single second. Her chest ached like a bullet had torn straight through. Not only did she insult the wrong monster, but it wasn't a monster at all. It was a fucking angel?!

Her attempts to hide her stunned expression were all failures.

The Trickster wheezed an incredulous laugh, this one sounding far more fabricated than his other tickled snickers. "A _what_?! Somebody slip a Mickey in your power shake, kid?"

Dean nodded with a cocky smile of his own. "Tell ya what. You just jump outta the Holy Fire and we'll call it our mistake."

On top of the fear and intense anxiety Frankie felt from having been so close to another angel, she found interest in what it was trapped in. Holy Fire appeared to be a real thing, and apparently angels couldn't escape from it. That was very good to know. She'd have to make plans to add that info into her journal later if they lived through all this.

The Trickster's head fell as a mocking titter squeezed from his lungs. He shook his head, readying himself for the spur of insults and trickery he was about to unleash on the three idiots who thought he was anything other than what he said he was.

But his face turned cold. His eyes smoothed over into a frigid glower, his lively smirk flat-lining. He looked seconds away from blasting them to Timbuktu, but he remained standing in the center of the Holy Fire.

The world changed once more. The rest stop at the edge of a rural forest dissolved into static before revealing the abandoned paper mill they had been in before. Frankie gazed around, somewhat relieved to see such a desolate place again.

The Trickster slowly clapped, his face showing nothing but pure detestation for the three standing before him. "Well played, guys. Well played." So it was true. This thing was a powerful angel. "Where'd you get the Holy Oil?" And apparently that was Holy Oil she'd been pouring. Good. To. Know.

"Well, you might say we pulled it outta Sam's ass."

Sam and Frankie turned their heads towards Dean with a tired, awkward stare on their faces.

"Where'd I screw up?" the Trickster asked, pulling out a new defeated attitude. Frankie _loved_ that foiled look on his face.

"You didn't," Sam answered. "But nobody gets the jump on Cas like you did."

"Mostly it was the way you talked about Armageddon."

The Trickster squinted his eyes, unsure of Dean's point. "Meaning?"

"Well call it personal experience, but nobody gets that angry unless they're talking about their own family."

Now he was caught up, and he wore a beleaguered scowl to enunciate it. His light green eyes were dark. The moment Dean dropped the 'f' word (family, not the fun one) his entire demeanor warped into a defensive bearing. His eyes flicked to the side, oddly enough landing on her.

She hid her threatened bristle, but she couldn't deny the newfound fear she felt when he gazed at her.

"So which one are you? Grumpy, Sneezy, or _Douchey_?" Sam bit. The Trickster's eyes blinked back to the tallest Winchester, glaring affronted at the man. Had the Holy Fire not been restraining him, Sam would have been coloring the walls.

"Gabriel, okay?"

Frankie's lungs were void of breath. Her stunned recoil was not as well hidden as before. Her stomach weighed a hundred pounds, and her shoulders scrunched up as her jaw slacked. Her muscles froze like a deer in headlights.

What did he just say? Did he just say that his name was…

His eyes drifted back into her own, his gaze passing right through her pupils and jabbing the back of her skull, glaring right into her mind. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention, her arms speckling with goosebumps.

"They call me Gabriel."

It took her a few short, quiet breaths to cough up her voice. "… Gabriel?" she whispered, finally finishing her dazed thought.

"The archangel?" Sam added, vainly asking for confirmation.

The Trickster – now the _archangel_ – cocked his head with a forcefully false smile. "Guilty."

All this time, all this fucking time, Frankie had been talking, playing games, with Gabriel, the archangel who was supposedly tethered to her soul. Her stomach bubbled, ready to lurch.

Now things were beginning to make sense in the most horrible ways possible. All those one-off comments about how he remembered her, how he seemed to know all about her despite them never meeting, were now shed in a very different light. If that really was his name and he was truthfully speaking back in the Green Room… then that did not bode well for her.

Could that mean… Castiel wasn't lying at all?

"Okay, Gabriel," Dean spat, making her flinch – although that wasn't very hard to do in her exposed state. "How does an archangel become a trickster?"

"My own private witness protection. I skipped outta Heaven, had a face transplant, carved out my own little corner of the world, 'til _you two_ screwed it all up."

Frankie crossed her arms over her chest, masking her anxious tremble. Well, that lined up with what Castiel said. He mentioned that Gabriel ran away from Heaven, and the archangel in front of her just confirmed that. Things were not looking so well for her at all.

"And what did Daddy say when you ran off and joined the Pagans?"

"Daddy doesn't say anything about anything."

"And what happened?" Sam asked. "Why'd you ditch?" Frankie tightened her arms over her chest, pulling a sour scowl. She wondered that, too. If he ran away, abandoning all responsibility – including over her – then what good reason was to come from all the suffering he caused?

"Well, do you blame him?" Dean answered. "I mean his brothers are heavyweight douche nozzles."

Gabriel turned his head to the elder brother, spearing him with a deadly glare. "Shut your cake hole. You don't know anything about my family." His face was overcome with a stiff sadness, one Frankie somehow sympathized with. "I love my father… my brothers… _love_ them. But watching them turn on each other? Tear at each other's throats?! I couldn't bear it! Okay? So I left."

Her mind was suddenly thrust back weeks ago in that motel room. Sam and Dean were violently arguing, and she had tried to stop it. But then that one shove sparked the fire that burst into a flaming mess. Punches thrown, bodies bruised, and she was powerless to stop it. Once she got involved, she got hurt, too, but no amount of physical pain could trump her heartbreak of seeing her brothers turn on each other.

Tear at each other's throats.

And what did she do?

She left.

"And now it's happening all over again."

"Then help us stop it!" Sam argued.

Gabriel lolled his head over to him, a tired glower in his eyes. "It can't be stopped."

"You wanna see the end of the world?" Dean gruffly questioned.

"I want it to be over!" The archangel's voice raised, intense emotion fluttering into his heated voice. "I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other thanks to you two! Heaven, Hell, I don't care who wins! I just want it to be over!"

Frankie softly shook her head as she listened to his frenzied words. It would shatter her heart to watch her brothers murder each other. Gabriel must feel the same. Despite her detestation of the archangel, she couldn't deny that she related to him. And seeing as they were tethered to each other, she could understand why.

She didn't want to see her brothers kill each other, but she believed there was a way to stop that from happening. If she believed it, it wasn't too farfetched for him to believe it, too.

"It doesn't have to be like that," she voiced, gathering his poignant attention. "There's gotta be some way to-to flip the switch!"

He broke into a cynical laughter, his posture slacking with utter exasperation. "You do not know my family. What you guys call the apocalypse? I used to call Sunday dinner! That's why there's no stopping this! Because this isn't about a war! It's about two brothers who loved each other, and betrayed each other. You think you'd be able to relate!"

The trio in front of the archangel stilled, their heads reeling as to what he meant by that remark.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, shaking his head in confusion. However, as confused as he had been, Gabriel was tenfold. Once he realized the sheer lack of understanding of the humans, he rolled his head with a faux amazed whistle.

"You sorry sons a' bitches. Why do you think you two are the vessels? Think about it." He extended a hand to each brother he addressed, firstly to Dean. "Michael, the big brother. Loyal to an absent father." Then to Sam. "And Lucifer, the little brother. Rebellious of Daddy's plan."

Gabriel's words pressed down on their shoulders. They hadn't really thought much into why they were specifically vessels for the archangels, but they would have taken any other explanation than this one. The biggest issue with it was that it made decent sense. That was what splashed them with fear, the fear that there really wasn't a reachable way to stop the inevitable.

Frankie looked over to her brothers. Amidst the obvious anger, genuine dread dimmed their faces. That gaping hole in the middle of her chest grew larger as the problem at hand dawned on her. There wasn't a way to stop this. Not one that they could reach. Fate was a cold bastard to try reason with.

"You were born to this, boys. It's your _destiny_! It was always you!" He gestured to the sky, arms outstretched. "'As it is in Heaven, so it must be on Earth.'" His voice lowered, as did his gaze, grim eyes resting on the two men. "One brother has to kill the other."

"So, what the hell are you saying?" Dean grumbled, his vulnerability slightly emerging in his voice.

"Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you? Because from the moment Dad flipped on the lights around here, we knew it was all gunna end with you. _Always_."

Dean barricaded against Gabriel pessimism with a severe glower. "No," he grunted. "That's not gunna happen."

Gabriel shook his head. "I'm sorry. But it is." His gaze remained plastered on Dean's challenging glare until even he gave in to the weight of the troubling subject. He sighed, a new softness – a look resembling hopelessness – oozing onto his face. "Guys. I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers, endings wrapped up in a bow… but this is real. And it's gunna end bloody for all of us. That's just how it's gotta be."

Frankie's face scrunched up into a sour glare as she looked over the archangel. That cynical pussy wasn't even trying. This was his family! Out of all of them, he had the power and influence to change their minds! Frankie hadn't known Sam and Dean for very long, but even she could convince them to stop fighting. Granted… she still had yet to actually do that, but since they started looking for her, they hadn't really fought, according to Castiel at least. So… that still counted! If she could do that, so could he. The problem was that he just gave up and left.

And so did she. But they were different. It was because of her that their fighting got too intense, so she assumed the best way to end the fighting was to take herself out of the picture. And in doing so, she learned of her complete incompetence as a hunter and a human being. But she also learned that she missed her family way too much to keep lying to them. She was better off telling them the truth and living with them hating her than never seeing them again and living a life she despised.

And just like that, she was far more mature than a damn archangel.

Speaking of the bastard, Gabriel's eyes flicked into her own. She glared harder. That wad of pubes really screwed up. On top of running out on his family and refusing to do anything about stopping his brothers, he also abandoned her. And who knows, maybe she could actually stop the apocalypse with whatever her purpose was.

But then again, he knew. He must know, right? Well, she had to know! After all the weeks of not knowing what she was actually meant to do in life, now she had one of the few beings who could tell her what she needed to do, but in order to do that, she'd have to reveal her secret to her brothers.

That in itself made it very difficult to open her mouth.

On one hand, she could figure out a way to use her purpose to stop the apocalypse, but on the other hand, she could leave the paper mill with her brothers still respecting her as a human being.

' _C'mon, Frankie! Stop being a selfish bitch! You know what the right thing to do is! You have to ask him!'_

"So, gang. Now what?" Gabriel sighed. Frankie chewed on the innards of her cheek, battling with herself over what she was going to do. "Stare at each other for all of eternity?"

"Well first of all, you're gunna bring Cas back from wherever you stashed him," Dean commanded. Frankie perked up. She had forgotten about him. Her heart pulled as she thought of all the horrible things Gabriel could have been doing to him this whole time.

"Oh, am I?"

"Yeah. Or we're going to dunk you in some Holy Oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel."

Gabriel's face hardened, displaying actual apprehension from the threat. Frankie logged that bit of information in her brain to jot down in her notebook later.

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and in an instant Castiel appeared behind the three. Frankie's chest constricted as she gazed at his bloodstained lapels.

"You okay?" she worriedly asked, slightly raising a hand to reach out to him.

"I'm fine," he grunted without glancing her way, his eyes scowling hard into the archangel across from him. "Hello, Gabriel."

The archangel wickedly smiled at him. "Hey, bro. How's the search for Daddy going? Lemme guess. _Awful_."

Castiel's eyes widened, his scowl deepening into an all-out glower of detestation. Gabriel merely pulled a mocking pout like a pathetic child. That was the last straw. All four of them had enough of the petulant archangel and his pessimistic ramblings.

Dean began backing away from the ring of Holy Fire. "Okay, we're outta here. C'mon, Sam."

"Uh… okay," Gabriel nervously spoke as Sam, Frankie, and Castiel began following Dean towards the exit. His voice then rose to a panicked shout. "Hey- guys! So- so what?! Huh?! You're just gunna- gunna leave me here forever?!"

Dean stopped right before the door, turning back around to face the archangel. The other three did the same. "No. We're not. 'Cause we don't screw with people the way you do." He stepped forward, head tilted as his voice gained a sharper edge. "And for the record, this isn't about some prize fight between your brothers, or some _destiny_ that can't be stopped! This is about _you_ being too afraid to stand up to your family!"

Frankie heart sagged in her ribcage. Those words may have been meant for Gabriel, but they strummed just as much a shameful chord within her as it did him. Everything that she'd done was because of her fear of standing up to her family.

Instead of confronting Dean about going to Italy, she sold her soul. Instead of telling him about her sold soul, she lied to him and made a false promise. Instead of facing the heat full on, she ran away to avoid him finding out about her mistake. Instead of going back to her family, she was possessed and enticed Lucifer to her trail. Every choice she made was connected to one theme: her family and her reluctance to confront them. Even now she still struggled with whether or not she would keep her mouth shut.

Dean turned around, eyes landing on a fire alarm. He hit it with the side of his fist, shattering the glass, and pulled the lever that sprinkled water from the ceiling to the tune of a shrill ringing.

"Don't say I never did anything for you!" he yelled over the alarm.

Sam and Dean turned and walked out the door, but Frankie and Castiel lingered inside the building. Castiel and Gabriel glared grimly at the other, brothers locked in a silent argument that neither of the other wanted to start. Gabriel sounded sure that God was nowhere that Castiel could find, and maybe he was right. The angel had gone this long without a single sign of God. Maybe… maybe God didn't want to be found.

Castiel refused to acknowledge the archangel anymore and turned to the door, walking out as Sam and Dean had. And that just left Frankie.

Gabriel's glare now rested in her eyes and hers in his. The Trickster was now the one angel that should give a damn about her, and as it turns out, he didn't. His absence was the cause for everything bad that happened in her life. _Everything_. If he hadn't run off, her life might have actually been decent. Fuck him.

But that didn't matter anymore. The damage had been done. What mattered now was her purpose, and that was all he was good for. Now was the perfect time to ask. Sam and Dean weren't in the room.

She opened her mouth, but the moment her throat squeaked out a single syllable, the ring of Holy Fire drowned, and the archangel fled with a resounding whoosh. Frankie softly gasped at the sudden disappearance.

And just like that, her chance to figure herself out, to learn about why her soul was branded, to finally know who she was and what she was still alive for, was gone with a single fluttering of giant wings. The hole in her chest stopped growing, and was instead filled with dark clouds of despair and lost opportunity.

"Fuckin' coward!" she screamed to the ceiling. She grimaced at the spot he had previously been standing. Only then did she finally realize just how drenched she was getting under the sprinklers and she turned with a huff to walk out of the building as her brothers and Castiel had before.

* * *

The drive to the motel was quiet. Much too quiet. But what could one say after their run in with the archangel?

Sam and Dean didn't mutter a word as the Impala glided over the asphalt. Gabriel's words hung too precariously in the air for any of them to open their mouths. For this, Frankie was grateful. It was one more night she would experience without the threat of disappointing her brothers.

But in place of that dread, she had sheer sorrow over her missed opportunity to find out who she was. Gabriel was gone in the blink of an eye, and she would most likely never see him again. Why would he want to be any closer to those who trapped him and threatened to burn him in a Holy Fire?

When they reached the motel, Sam went right into his and Dean's motel room, eager to end such a horrid day, but Dean stayed back and stood next to Frankie. He looked down at her, that same curiously sad sparkle in his eyes. She knew he was thinking a million different things – why did she leave, why did she come back, why was she so beaten and bruised – but he kept those thoughts locked down. His head was swimming with far too many thoughts to even attempt to add onto the weight.

Instead, he spoke softly in curt sentences. "It's late. I'll get you a room. We'll talk tomorrow." There was no room for Frankie to argue, not that she would if she could have. It gave her more time to figure out how she was going to form her words the next morning.

Morning couldn't come soon enough. Despite her stomach boiling with anxiety over the heartbreak she would endure once the sun rose, what was worse was waiting for it to happen. Sleep remained distant and her mind buzzed with everything she didn't want to be thinking about. Sam, Dean, Bobby, Castiel, Michael, Lucifer, God, Gabriel- it was too much.

She kept her hands busy, trying to focus on anything but those select few who dictated her life. She replaced bandages, brushed her hair, made up the bed, wrote in her journal, but it wasn't enough.

While sitting on the end of the mattress, she realized that it was the calm before the storm. She was simply filling in time before she lost everything she held dear. She sighed, her body leaning forward in a heavy sulk, but as she shifted, something sharp poked her thigh. She hissed and reached into her pocket for whatever stabbed her and pulled out the tammatuyuq tooth.

She turned the pearly fang in her fingers, sighing poignantly at it. Many weeks ago she would have been ecstatic to be holding a monster's tooth in her hands. Now it simply made her sad (then again, what didn't nowadays?). Her chances of becoming a true hunter were gone. That part of her would never exist. She didn't have the strength or mentality to be a Winchester, but a girl could dream while she had the chance, couldn't she?

She smiled sorrowfully at the thought of what she could have been. Strong, intimidating, a true controller of her own destiny. She liked that version of herself. She was free, unburdened by life's dark humor. If things were different and the world wasn't ending, if she grew up with John instead of Sierra, grew up with her brothers, how much better would her life had been?

She rubbed her thumb over the tooth. Her eyes caught sight of a golden shine reflected in the fang's smooth surface. She glanced down to what was being reflected and saw that it was the chain Bobby had given her. That sad smile dared to spread.

She gathered a small, flexible wire that she wrapped around the top of the tooth and then used the excess at the top to loop into the chains of the necklace, hanging it on the end like a pendent. She dropped it, letting it tap against her chest, resting over her heart. There. Now she had a reminder, something to represent who she could have been had she been a different version of herself. Something to remind her to never try to be something she's not. Something to remind her who she could never be – that she could never be like her brothers.

"Don't scream."

Frankie loudly gasped at the sudden voice beside her. She shot up off of the bed and twisted around, hand flinging to the back of her pants to where her machete should have been.

Gabriel stood beside the bed, a cautious look in his green eyes as he slowly approached her with his hands raised, like calming a spooked animal. Frankie freaked out and went with her first instinct.

"Dea-!" she tried to call, but Gabriel was fast. He launched for her, throwing her back into the wall, and covered her mouth with his hand.

"You don't listen very well, do you?" Frankie spouted curses and swears into his palm only for them to be muffled and hushed. He lined her gaze up with his, noses nearly an inch away from each other, and lowered his voice to a quiet mumble. "Listen, I'm not gunna hurt ya. That's not why I'm here."

Frankie made a noise into his hand that sounded something like, 'Oh, yeah right!'

"Just- be a good girl and keep your voice down, okay? Please?"

Frankie's only response was a penetrating glower into his champagne irises. Even though he received no confirmation from her, he slowly removed his hand, and the first moment the girl had she opened her mouth to spit out the vile words on her tongue.

"You fucking-"

"Coward. Yeah, I know. I heard," Gabriel huffed with a roll of his eyes. "Just listen for a minute, okay?"

"I don't wanna hear a word from your damn mouth!" Frankie quietly spat, shoving his shoulder. He ignored her weak push with an exhausted glare.

"We both know that's malarkey, Frankie," he sighed. "I know what you wanna ask me."

She paused, only for a moment, before turning her head to the side to avoid his close gaze. "You're talkin' shit. I don't know what you mean."

Gabriel set his jaw and crossed his arms, his elbows nearly poking her shoulders, as he scowled down at her. "Look, I could and _should_ be on a completely different continent right now, but here I am. This is your one chance to ask me what's been on your mind for weeks." Frankie grinded her teeth against the inside of her bottom lip. "Now I know I've never offered you a damn thing, but we all gotta start somewhere."

Frankie kept her eyes away from the archangel, wanting nothing more than to run around him and flee through the door, but there was no plausible escape. He would catch her, push her against the wall, force her to listen.

' _Listen to what?'_ she wondered. _'Why the hell is he here right now? What- so I can ask him a question? What game is he playing now?'_

But game or not, she couldn't deny that this was her chance. He flew off back at the paper mill and didn't give her a chance to ask him, but here he was now. She could ask him. She could figure out who she was, what she was meant to do.

But what if he lied? Then what would be the point? In fact, what was the point of him standing in front of her right then and there?

What was the point of him coming?

Perhaps… he really was giving her a chance. Perhaps he wasn't just a damn coward. Maybe there was a small piece of him that actually did want to give her a little peace of mind going into the apocalypse.

Even though she didn't believe that for a moment, she had no power to halt her tongue.

"Is it true?" she asked, her voice weak and fragile. "Does Heaven have a brand on my soul?"

Even though he was surely expecting that question, Gabriel's eyes were swaddled in a dour coating. "Yes. It's true."

Frankie's head was split in two, one side uneven with the other. On one hand, she was glad to have finally gotten an answer after all the suffering she went through to get it, but on the other hand, she found herself uneasy at the actual answer.

"So…," her voice squeaked. She snorted out a soft, humorless chuckle as she walked around Gabriel, her arms crossed over her chest as well. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. "So, I'm important to Heaven, huh?"

Stones formed in her gut at the sullen look on Gabriel's face.

"That's why I'm here," he said, voice heavy. He strutted over to the mattress and lowered himself down on it, his hands linked in his lap. "I know you've been sending Asstiel to search for why you're on the attic's radar, and I'm here to tell you to stop." His eyes twinkled with severity. "You won't find anything. Anything good, at least."

Frankie remained still, her pupils set in a frozen scowl pointed at the archangel. "What are you saying?"

Gabriel's stony face spoke mountains of words, some of which sang that his words were just as hard to say as it was for her to hear.

"Heaven doesn't need you."

Frankie was quiet for a long minute, and Gabriel was frozen in his severe stare as she gazed hard at him. An incredulous chuckle trickled out of her mouth, showing her ever so slight amusement and denial. When he didn't take his words back or pair it with a joke, her laughter ceased. Her smile fell. "But my soul-"

"-Is at the bottom of a very long list," he interjected, voice hardening. "What you're tagged for, why Heaven has that little sticker on your soul," he pointed at her chest with a wiggling finger, "it's for something so small and insignificant to the whole shebang that I'm one of the few angels who even remembers that you were ever a thing. And that's because I was the one supposed to look after you." Frankie's face felt as if it weighed a ton. "After I fled, I'm pretty sure everyone just assumed you'd fall outta the picture."

"So it's your fault?!" the girl blurted, her face reddening in color.

"No! Maybe- I don't know!" Gabriel quickly retaliated. "If you haven't been paying attention, I haven't exactly been to the last couple board meetings!"

Frankie huffed and threw her head to the side. She couldn't believe what she was hearing! He was really sitting there – on _her_ bed, no less – telling her that Heaven suddenly decided that she wasn't worth the effort and simply forgot about her? He was really telling her that Heaven sought out to brand her as a human to be protected for something so small that they could just sweep her under the rug whenever they felt like it? He actually expected her to believe that?!

Gabriel, noticing her intense reaction to the news, sighed and stood to his feet, calmly holding his hands up like he had before. "Look, it's more than just that. The apocalypse plays a big part in this. With your brothers taking their sweet time to say yes to Michael and Lucifer, Heaven is taking up a lot more resources than they thought. The possibility of your role actually happening is getting tinier and tinier the longer they fight against the angels."

Frankie kept her head pointed at the wall, refusing to acknowledge the bastard, but taking his words into consideration. It could make decent sense. If they projected Sam and Dean to give in way earlier, they wouldn't have had to play all the cards in their hand.

So… did that mean that it was Sam and Dean's fault that the angels stopped caring about her? Was Gabriel trying to convince her that the longer they fight against Heaven, the less relevant to Heaven she'll be?

She didn't want to believe it.

"And…," Gabriel continued, lowering his head as his arms crossed over his chest again, "well, Frankie, to be honest, your ' _purpose_ ' isn't really that important." Frankie finally looked at him, and her incensed eyes tore through his own. "The thing is, if you live through the apocalypse, they might use you." He pursed his lips with a short nod. "Might. But if you don't… it's no skin off their noses. But they won't fight for you. And they won't come looking for you. Not until Michael and Lucifer take care of their business."

She didn't want to believe it. She couldn't.

But she was starting to.

It didn't make sense, but at the same time it made perfect sense. If she wasn't necessary to Heaven's plans, then she was simply a liability, an excess weight that they can just toss out with no repercussions. That meant she mattered at one point, but due to her brothers' refusal to cooperate, she was rendered useless in the minds of the angels.

She held herself steady against the wall, fearing she would collapse into a pathetic pile of tears if she didn't hold herself on her feet.

Gabriel carefully stepped towards her, lightly shrugging as he made his way over to the girl. "The truth ain't always fun to hear, sunshine. I wish it wasn't that cynical. But, hey," he desolately smiled, catching her misty eyes. "Then we wouldn't get people like me."

She shouldn't feel as horrible as she did. After all, Sam and Dean were Michael and Lucifer's _vessels_. Who the hell was she to the overall plan?

She thickly swallowed, trying to keep the quiver out of her weak voice. "What is my purpose?" she softly whispered.

Gabriel now stood in front of her, his eyes gazing sorrowfully down into her own. His smile was forlorn, showing pity towards the miserable girl right in front of him. "Some things are better left unsaid."

She slowly shook her head, her vision blurring with tears. "Please tell me."

Gabriel let out a long sigh through his nostrils. He brought his hand up her face, brushing her bangs back and tucking them behind her chewed ear. Despite her hatred for the angel, she felt a muddled comfort at his touch, like that of a distant yet adored relative. Her eyes fluttered closed as a single tear traced her cheek, her head leaning into his touch. His voice swirled into her ears, quiet and consoling.

"Your heart's been broken enough. Don't make me crush it."

Frankie leaned her head back against the wall with a dull thud. Her world was crashing down on her yet again, but this time she didn't have alcohol to blame it on.

Her brothers stole her purpose away from her, but she didn't show spite. She understood, and that was the bad part. They were more important than her. Their lives mattered, not hers. She was just an extra weight. One to Heaven, and one to them.

She never ridded herself of her burden. She merely misidentified it, mistaking it for something far more insignificant.

Her eyelids lifted, revealing her pink eyes to the archangel. "So what am I supposed to do now? I have no purpose." She sorrowfully shrugged, a tight emotionless smile stretching her cheeks. "Where do I go from here?"

Gabriel blinked his eyes, smoldering a small light in his irises of darkness. "That I can tell you. Go. See the world. Check those boxes on your bucket list. Get away from your brothers and do everything you ever wanted to do…," Gabriel reached behind him and revealed her machete, holding it out to the girl, "before _my_ brothers kill you first."

Frankie stared down at her lost blade. She wondered how the hell he got it, or more so how the hell he knew where to look. But aside from all of that, she knew what he meant. That machete was where Lucifer had last been. There was no telling for sure, but he must be close on her trail. And Gabriel knew that.

She flicked her eyes into his, silently pleading for the truth not to be what it was. He knew she was in danger with Lucifer knowing about her, yet he still refused to do anything about it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, grabbing her hand and raising it to meet the machete's handle. He curled her fingers around the grip and squeezed her hand against it, the gesture speaking more than what he was saying. "That's just the way it's gotta be. I wish it were different, Frankie… but 'that's life. And I can't deny it,'" he sighed, reciting lyrics from one of Frankie's favorite Sinatra songs.

His eyes dove for the floor between them. The air in the room grew thicker as the weight of what he was asking dawned on both of them. He shook his head with a guttural noise sounding before his voice passed his lips. "I know I haven't been in your life at all. You have no reason to listen to me. I haven't tried to help you at any other point of your life, but I'm helping you now. I can at least leave you with a small peace offering."

Frankie crinkled her brows and glanced up just in time to see his two fingers touch her forehead. In an instant, it felt as if her world brightened. Her pain was gone. She could stand on her foot, she could move her shoulder, and her nose didn't ache and throb, but most of all she could think straight. She felt as if she had been sleeping for a thousand years and only now woke up to a fresh new world. Her sleep deprivation was nonexistent. She was healed.

She brought her hands to her face. Her eye was no longer swollen and her stitches were gone. She could clench her teeth without her jaw stinging. It felt wonderful and vile at the same time.

"I don't want a peace offering," she hissed through tear-dripping lips. "You can't make up for what you put me through. I will never forgive you." She was so heated that she missed the wounded glint in his eyes. "The least you could do for me, the _very_ least, is do your job as a brother and stand up to your family!"

Gabriel's eyes hardened, looking much more like they had when they first met. He stepped back, his eyes never tearing away from hers. "Ladies first." Frankie couldn't keep her scowl in place long enough before his words strummed that chagrined chord within her. He rolled his shoulders with a newfound pestered glare. "You're welcome."

And then he was gone once again, the wind from his wings blowing her hair out of its tucked position behind her ear, abandoning her yet again. This time, though, it felt like the final time. And with the closing of one distressing burden, the several others that remained stepped up to the plate, ready for morning to come even if she herself was not.


	35. Chapter 34 - Prophesy

**A/N: Aight, sooooo... I kinda took some time away from writing. Y'all may have not noticed, I dunno. I did so because I wanted to finish my internship, and spend some time enjoying it. I had such a good time, y'all, omg. But I'm back now. I'm still in school, but have lots of time to write in between classes. I'm gonna try to still post on weekends (today being an exception, cuz I just wanted to get this chapter out so bad). I hope y'all are still up for this wacky adventure, cuz shits about to go down.**

 **Thanks for the continued support, guys!**

* * *

Empty.

She had read novels where authors described the protagonist at their lowest as feeling empty. They sank into themselves, having nothing else to hang onto, not even hope. Hope seemed like an urban legend, one that brave preteens were certain was real and go off in search for that pure hope. But adults know better. It's child's play. A treasure hunt with no reward. Just a giant "X" in place of closure.

Frankie didn't know about any of that, but she did know one thing for certain: the hope she once had was as good as gone.

That optimism that once defined her – that gave her strength to pursue John, that gave her the perseverance to follow her brothers into any and all danger they faced – was weakened beyond repair. Her optimism was on life support, and it was her decision on whether or not to pull the plug.

She smoothed her palms over her thighs as she sat on the end of her mattress. Her cheeks were dressed up in pink shades with a sticky film of dried tears that would pull at her skin if she had the energy to muster a simple frown.

Her little chat with Gabriel left her cast out in a riptide of despair. This being, the one that was supposed to protect her and guide her on her destiny, informed her of the horrid truth.

She wasn't important.

It wouldn't be such a big deal if she hadn't placed so much on her purpose. That was her token into the war. That was her biggest playing card and it was rendered useless in the span of a five minute conversation with an archangel. Using her "importance" to her advantage was her way to save the world. No matter what, it would help her bring down Heaven and maybe even Hell!

But now she knew the wounding truth. No one was coming for her. No one wanted her. Sam and Dean probably thought she was far too much to handle and were possibly in the other room that very second trying to come up with the calmest way to tell her that they were taking her back to Alabama.

At that point… it didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Almost every decision she made since she first hopped into the Impala led to nothing but pain in either her or others. Every decision she made ended in misery. Eventually it had to stop.

Gabriel had one request for her, only one. He wanted her to leave her family and see the world, to do everything she ever wanted to do before she was inevitably killed in the crossfires of the Apocalypse. The only problem was that she didn't want to do anything but right her wrongs, but that came with a price she couldn't afford.

Sam and Dean would never work together as long as she was in-between them, Castiel would focus more on her brothers without having that damn promise to protect her tying him down, and Bobby… well she was sure his life would be better off without her around _somehow_. She knew that the only way to fix anything – even for a short while – was to remove her from the picture, no matter what that meant for her.

She had to come to terms with the fact that she was too much to handle. She was toxic, and that was a whole other burden she had to drag along with her. She felt as though she were Jacob Marley from _The Christmas Carol_ , tugging her swathing, laden chains up a sheer hill. What she wouldn't give to strangle herself with those chains…

Her hands slithered up her arms, a tight grip pulling them into her body. Her shoulders curved forward, her head lowering into the pitiful ball she encased herself in.

She needed to sacrifice everything she desired to make the lives of those she loved better. This was her destiny. If not appointed by God, she'd make it so herself.

Three solid knocks at the door capsized her heart. She wasn't ready to talk to her brothers. She'd never be, but if she was ever going to shrug off the suffocating weights from her soul, she would have to suck it up and face the wrath to come.

She sniffed and coughed to clear her voice from its quaking rasp. "Come in."

As the door opened, she wiped her cheeks on the strap of her tank top, resulting in nothing but irritating her already red skin. She blinked to air dry her eyelashes before lifting her gaze to the man shutting the door.

"Hello, Frankie," Castiel somberly greeted, his stern gaze the exact same as it was the last time she saw him.

A hot cloud flared in Frankie's chest at the first glimpse of him. The sight of his stretching trench coat sent a jolt to her heart and moistened her eyes once more. "Castiel!" she squeaked, launching herself off of the bed and bolting to the angel. She all but tackled him as she wrapped her arms around his midsection, the impact causing him to stumble back. Her throat squawked when she tried to speak. Collecting herself, she pressed her cheek to his chest, her eyes squeezing shut. "You have no idea how good it is to see you."

Frankie felt her insides curdling. The way she ended things with Castiel before they went into the paper mill crushed her already crippled soul. She blamed so much on him, and she turned out to be wrong. She accused him of lying to her, of _deceiving_ her, when all he had ever done was help her when he didn't need to. She abused him, whether he knew it or not. But that didn't matter. Because she knew, and she hated herself for every condemning word she spat at him.

Hands sank onto her shoulders. For a brief moment, she felt a long-awaited relief for any sort of reciprocation to her embrace, but that diluted joy faded when Castiel pushed against her, tearing her away from his body. She glanced up, fearing what she would see, but there were no pestered glares or tired scowls. His head was tilted, eyes squinting in confusion as his pupils flitted over her.

"Your face."

Frankie was overcome with mixed feelings of relief and disappointment. "Yeah," she exhaled, taking a few steps out of his bubble. She idly brushed her freshly healed cheek with cold fingers. "Yeah, I know."

"What happened?"

Frankie pressed her lips into a tight smile as she turned away from him. She crossed her arms over her chest. "You could say I… I was 'touched by an angel,'" she humorlessly quipped.

Castiel's eyes squinted the slightest bit more, puzzled for a mere second before his head straightened, a cold splash of realization washing over his face. His curious eyes flashed an alarmed glower as his shoulders broadened in a premature attack position. "Gabriel," he growled.

Cold panic trickled down Frankie's spine. She didn't want him tearing the place to shreds looking for the archangel. She held up her hands, slowly approaching him as he frantically threw his gaze around the room. "I-it's okay! He didn't hurt me."

"He could have." He ignored her soothing approach and stepped passed her, scrutinizing the empty bathroom. "He could've killed you if he wanted."

Frankie's eyes sank to the carpeted floor. She hugged her arms tighter as she less than gracefully lowered herself onto her bed. "Wish he had…," she whispered.

She had no intent of Castiel hearing her somber remark, yet he had. He turned his head, pointing his now concerned gaze at her slouching form. But if he had any significant thoughts about her words, they remained behind his lips.

"What did he want?" he asked, stepping back into the main room. Frankie peered up at him.

Their last conversation made the most recent events very hard to recount. How do you tell someone that they were right all along and to just ignore the hurtful things you said to them? How do you mend a relationship you were so ready to toss into the mud?

No longer able to keep her eyes in his, Frankie stared down at her ripped and fraying jeans as the memories of her angelic encounter returned to her mind. "Gabriel, uh… he came by to tell me a couple things."

"What things?"

She couldn't hold herself up anymore. Gabriel's bombshell was a parasitic disease that ate away at every muscle, every nerve, until she couldn't hold herself together. She leaned forward, bringing a single hand to her lolling head. She swallowed thickly, the gagging flavor of defeat lining every taste bud.

"I'm… not important."

There was a moment that was so quiet and engulfed by silence that Frankie could have sworn Castiel up and left her alone.

"What?" he finally voiced.

Frankie slowly shrugged, unsure of what else to do. "I mean, I _was_. At one point. But Gabriel… he said the angels've forgotten about me. He said there's no use for me now that Sam and Dean are holding out for so long." She drilled her fingers into her eye sockets, trying and failing to relieve the gnawing pain behind them. "It doesn't matter if I live or die. Explains why no angels have come to my rescue. Except you."

Frankie opened her eyes and pointed them to the angel. He was looking somewhere lost to the world as he processed her words. At her silence, his eyes slowly made their way into hers. They still looked lost.

"Castiel, trying to describe how sorry I am is… it's a losing battle. I can't even begin to thank you for… _everything_. And I've been so ungrateful. I don't deserve your kindness. I don't deserve your patience." Her eyes found the carpet again. "I don't deserve you," she breathily spoke, voice barely above a whisper. The world went dark as she closed her eyes. A rather large piece of her wished to just dissolve into the air, ceasing to exist.

"I'm not gunna hold you to your promise. You have absolutely no reason to keep protecting me. I'm not worth it after all." Her eyes reopened, filling her sight with the wretched light of an unforgiving world. She looked to Castiel. He had not torn his eyes away from her.

"I release you, Castiel," her throat croaked.

Castiel was uncannily still. He was like a Polaroid photograph. Frankie was unsure for a moment whether or not he was a hallucination and was ready to smack him if he remained quiet.

"Perhaps Gabriel was lying," he finally said.

Frankie shook her head, lightly gesturing her hands to herself. "Why would he? What would he have to gain? He didn't have to tell me this. He almost sounded like he thought he was doing me some sorta favor. Like I'd _want_ to know this."

Castiel looked to the floor as he walked to the other side of the room. "It doesn't make sense."

"Hey, you're telling me," Frankie scoffed.

"They can't just ignore your soul's brand. It was placed there by God Himself."

"Well… you heard Gabriel. God isn't really around anymore. And with the other angels having their hands full with the Apocalypse, there's not much room left for little ol' me."

Castiel clenched and relaxed his hands over and over again, his face as stony and still as a gargoyle's. "Your purpose." He turned his head to Frankie. "Did Gabriel tell you what it was?"

The girl shook her head as softly as she spoke. "No."

"Then there's still a chance it can be used to our advantage."

Frankie sat straighter on the bed, her brows furrowing at his words. "No, there's not. Heaven wants nothing to do with me. Hell, they might just kill me off if it meant getting a message across to Sam and Dean."

Castiel twisted his entire body to face her, gesturing with a contradicting hand. "You're not to be harmed."

Frankie sighed. It was a nice thought, but it wasn't like anybody was really keeping track of that rule. "I dunno, man. Maybe it's just best if we forget this was ever a thing."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, maybe," Frankie shrugged her shoulders, "we should just pretend none of this happened. The angels aren't gunna come for me, so what's the point?"

Castiel glanced out the window, watching for something unseen through the glass. "The angels may be willing to forget your name without any struggle, but I wouldn't consider that an option for the demons." He turned his head back to the girl. "That demon knows what we believed: that Heaven has plans for you. And she has no doubt informed Lucifer of this. They won't simply forget, so we can't."

Frankie lowered her head, linking trembling fingers together. "You've got a good point there. Damn her."

Castiel's voice softened as he stepped closer to her. "That is why we need your brothers' help. I'm weak and you're inexperienced with supernatural conflict."

Frankie straightened her shoulders. "I wouldn't say inexperience. I've gone against my fair share of monsters."

"Be that as it may, you can't face Lucifer by yourself."

Frankie humorlessly laughed. "Who says I'm facing him by myself? I'd like to stay as far away from that guy as possible."

Castiel stared knowingly down at her. "That is why your place is with Sam and Dean. Not by yourself."

The girl rubbed the tip of her thumb against her fingernails, thinking about her brothers. "I've already come to terms with the inevitable. I'm gunna tell them everything tomorrow. I just…," she shook her head, a long sigh brushing passed her lips. She lifted her eyes, meeting Castiel's. "What do- what do you think they'll… y'know, think? Or say?" Her eyes sank along with her heart. "Am I even gunna have brothers after this?"

"Of course you will. Why would you think that?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe 'cause I lied to them all this time about selling my soul? I _promised_ Dean I would never make a deal. And then I go and leave them only to get tangled up with demons and angels! And I never told them about the Heaven brand!" Her fingers slithered through her hair and grasped her strands tightly. "Mistake after mistake. Lie after lie. They don't need all this on top of the end of the goddamn world. That's why I think that, Castiel."

She used to be so simple. Frankie Pearce was a quiet outcast, sickly and reclusive. When you saw her in town, you waved and smiled because you knew her life was short, and you wanted her final memories to have happy faces in them. When you both ended up in a grocery store aisle, you asked about her mom and gave your good wishes. Then you kept walking, because that was all you could do. She wouldn't allow you to treat her any other way. Not like there was any more to her.

Now, when you see her walking down the street, you stay on the other side of the road. You don't initiate conversation, because if you do, you'll get a sour attitude and a nasty glare. Don't ask her anything, because any answer you get will be a lie to cover her own ass in whatever way she could. Don't get close to her, because you can faintly smell her pungent self-loathing. She had truly become an unpleasant person.

"I cannot say that they won't be angry." She closed her eyes against Castiel's words. "In fact, they may very well be furious. But eventually, they do find it in themselves to forgive those that deserve forgiveness. Sam and Dean will be angry for some time. Their trust won't be easy to regain, but if it's something you truly seek, then you can earn it."

Frankie grinded the inner lining of her cheek against her molars. Her head sank, a jolt of pain stabbing her heart with every throb. "It's not their trust that I want. Believe me, I sank that ship long ago."

Castiel tilted his head, looking at her with that curious gaze of his. "Then what is it that you want?"

Small bobbles of tears sat at the brim of her eyelids. She sucked in a shaky breath. "I just wanna make things right. I wanna die their sister. Not their burden." Her throat hardened, tightening like a twisted rope. "I just wanna mean something to them."

The world dimmed as Castiel stepped closer to her, casting his towering shadow over her hunched form. His voice was low and soft, holding a comfort that she desperately needed.

"You have a very clouded idea of your brothers. Sam and Dean wouldn't have traveled all this way if you didn't mean something to them. What exactly they think of you, that's for them to explain, but you seem to believe that you are a crumb in their world when that is untrue."

His words acted like a phantom hand that caressed her cheek and lifted her chin to look him in the eye.

"Family means everything to the Winchesters. And you are their family, Frankie. They won't cast you out for your mistakes, but rather try to prevent you from making new ones." Castiel placed a hand on her shoulder. His palm sent a surge of comfort down her back. "Don't be too quick to dismiss their understanding. They've made their fair share of mistakes as well." He pressed his lips together, brows crinkling. "And… so have I. Yet the Winchesters still find it in themselves to pardon me for those mistakes. After all my faults, I still mean something to those boys. And you mean something to them, too." There was a small twinkle in his eyes, a tiny sorrowful spark as he stared down at the girl. "As well as myself."

Frankie's wet lips stretched into an unstable smile. Leave it to him to cradle her hope and slap a bandage on it.

When she went in for a hug this time, she didn't knock him off balance. She softly encased his midsection with her arms and pressed her cheek to his chest. She didn't care if he didn't reciprocate the gesture. In the end it didn't matter. All that mattered in the world to her was that he was there, right there in that motel room. She had someone to hold onto, to keep her smile ahead of her and her scowl to Heaven.

All that mattered was that she wasn't alone.

"Thanks, Cas."

* * *

Frankie found it strange that she was able to sleep after her rather traumatic few days, but she chalked it up to a mixture of Gabriel's unwarranted healing powers and Castiel's invigorating pep talk. Nonetheless, the next day had arrived and she knew exactly what was in store. Somehow, though, she felt a little more prepared for what was to come.

Oddly enough, the loud banging on the door came around noon. She was surprised, to say the least, that her brothers had allowed her to sleep in, but she was grateful for the extra hours of rest.

Castiel was gone when she awoke, but that was for the best. The night before, they agreed that Frankie should have the chance to explain things for herself, and if she needed any help at all he would only be a prayer away.

When she answered the door, she knew right away what Dean would notice. He stilled, brows diving for his nose as his eyes narrowed on her. "Your face," he plainly spoke. Frankie nodded her head with a knowing sigh.

"I'll explain."

He opened his mouth to speak. His head tilted slightly as he observed her smooth, freckled cheeks and gleaming eyes, no longer sunken and hollow. He seemed more taken aback than she would have expected, but it hit her that it was the first time in months that he saw her completely unmarked and healthy. Well… healthy from the outside perspective.

No words spoken, he led her to the next room over where Sam waited patiently with his arms crossed. He stood at the far side of the room, next to the bathroom, and had the very same reaction Dean did at first glance of the girl.

"Your face," he uttered, voice nearly identical to his brother's earlier remark.

Dean held up a single hand with a passive nod. "She'll explain." He turned to Frankie and motioned his head to the end of one of the beds. "Sit." Frankie did as she was told.

The room was quiet, unsurprisingly. With so much to say, what could be said? For a few long, unbearably awkward moments, Frankie stared up to her scowling brothers standing with their arms crossed and faces brooding. She simply sat on the bed, her fingers tapping restlessly on her thighs.

"So. How've y'all been?" she finally spat out. They were, of course, unamused at her nonchalantly attitude and lowered their chins with identical raised brows. She sighed, averting her eyes as she made the first dive into the conversation that had been haunting her for weeks. "Where do you want me to start?"

"You can start here," Sam answered, reaching into his pocket. He took out a piece of crumpled paper and tossed it onto her lap. Frankie stared down at the very note that informed them of her disappearance. "Why'd you ditch?"

The note looked the same as it had back in Montana, save for the new wrinkles. It even had the smudged pencil marks from a tear that plopped onto the corner. She swallowed down the conflicting emotions with a thick gulp. "I think this explains everything," she coolly spoke, gesturing to the note with an idle finger.

"This doesn't explain _half_ of what needs to be explained," Dean grunted. "What 'dangers' are following you? Does it have anything to do with how beat up you were?"

Time was up. Frankie was as ready as she'd ever be. She had to be. But all the while she still felt the boiling in her stomach that made her want to lurch its contents onto the carpet.

Her lips parted with an unstable inhale. "I've gained quite the reputation. Demons are trying to get ahold of me. One succeeded."

A moment of pause resonated around the four walls.

"What?" her brothers exclaimed.

"Succeeded how?" Sam fervently asked.

Her tapping fingers found each other like magnets laid out on a table. "One caught me. Y'all actually know her. Uh, she was the one who nearly killed Bobby."

They stilled for a moment as they tried to recall who she was referring to, but it only took a moment. Dean rolled his head along with his eyes as a sigh raced out of his mouth. "Meg. Great." Frankie preferred it when she didn't know the demon's name. "What did she want?"

Frankie scraped her thumbnails under each other as she remembered every haunting detail of the encounter. "She wanted to take me to Lucifer."

"W-What?!" Sam sputtered. "What does Lucifer want with you?"

That was a good question. Frankie wished she knew the answer. "Well… when she possessed me-"

"Possessed you?!" Sam and Dean shouted together.

She nodded as she licked her lips. "When she possessed me, she found out everything about me. She found out I was your sister and somehow figured ol' Lucy would wanna know that info."

Her eyes clouded over as she saw the face of that man. The flowing blood from his neck filled her vision. The carpet suddenly appeared red. Her feet squished against the floor.

"She… made me _kill_ an innocent man. Just so she could call Lucifer." Her head softly shook. "I didn't know his name… I just…"

Her eyes were too unfocused to see the change in her brothers' faces. Their scolding eyes morphed into looks of abrupt worry. The sight of their sister so affected by her demonic encounter brought out aching sympathy in Sam's gut and rage in Dean's.

She blinked hard, squeezing her eyes until white spots speckled behind her eyelids. She sniffed hard and rolled her shoulders as she returned to the business at hand. "He seemed really interested in my relation to y'all."

Dean's head roll made a second appearance. "Great. So now we have _that_ to worry about."

Sam's brows, empathetically furrowed, shaded curious eyes. "So, how'd you escape?"

Frankie's breath did not sill on her own accord.

"Yeah. How _did_ you escape?" Dean echoed.

As mildly ready as she had been, there was no way to prepare herself for the next moment. She was done lying, and she was going to tell them the truth. She could accept that they wouldn't like it, but the thought of damaging their relationship with Cas rattled her bones.

Her lungs burned with lack of air, and she filled them only to exhale the words that wanted to stay glued to the lining of her throat. "Castiel saved me."

As expected, silence was the first to speak. All she had to stifle the flaming of her chest were the faces of her brothers. Sam was still, if not slightly confused, but Dean…

His eyes had evened out at the mention of the angel. The glare that was strategically positioned there collapsed, leaving behind a look of shock that she hadn't expected of her brother.

"Cas?" he huffed, his voice less sturdy than before.

"How'd he know where to find you?" Sam asked, pressing her further.

Frankie's other fingers joined in with scraping nails under nails. "I prayed to him. He came spiraling into the rescue and beamed us outta there before Lucifer made his grand entrance."

Sam's eyes had been pointing to seemingly nowhere, but his brain was far from lost. He had been doing the math in his head and knew things weren't adding up. "Frankie…," he slowly spoke, "how long ago was this?"

"Just the other day. Like two days ago."

Dean's shocked look intensified, his even eyes hardening. "Two days. As in two days? Forty-eight hours?"

Frankie, a little confused, nodded. "Yeah."

Dean nodded as well, yet his held a cynical origin. "Sonnuva bitch," he grunted, rubbing his mouth.

Frankie looked between her brothers. "What?"

Sam sighed and stepped forward as Dean huffed behind him. "We've been trying to find you since you left. Cas said he couldn't track you down."

"And now you're saying he saved your ass from Satan and didn't report back to us?" the latter snapped.

Frankie could tell that things were unraveling too fast. She didn't want Cas to become a black stain on her story. "Well… you guys were gone for days. We went out looking for y'all the moment we escaped."

There was that ping, that jagged, piercing pain in her heart that signaled a lie passing her lips. Like a truth-telling kidney stone. She couldn't take the pain anymore. She had to get that thing out before it killed her.

"Well… okay. That's not entirely true. When Castiel zapped us away, he collapsed. He was unconscious."

"What?" Sam blurted.

"Why?" Dean grumbled.

"From what I can gather, his powers are depleting every day. He's getting weaker." Frankie lowered her eyes as a different pain pinged in her chest. This one came from the thought of Castiel working himself to death. She just got to a good place with him. She didn't want to lose him. "If he keeps pressing forward at a hundred percent, he's gunna run himself into the ground."

"You seem really worried for him." Frankie glanced up to Sam's curious eyes.

"Especially since you've only met him, what? Twice?" Dean added, equally curious.

Frankie gulped and forced herself to sit a little straighter. "I'm done keeping this hidden. I haven't been alone all this time. Castiel's been making sure I've been safe."

Sam's brows shot up, his jaw slightly dropping. "What?"

"He made a promise to protect me and wouldn't let me take off without checking up on me every day."

Dean turned away, his jaw tightening with rising anger. "You've gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me."

There was that worry again. He wouldn't be a black stain. "He was just trying to keep me safe."

"And look what happened!" Sam shouted, pointedly gesturing to her. "How could he let you get possessed if he was keeping tabs on you?!"

Frankie defensively held up her hands. "Okay, look. That was my fault. I got myself in trouble and Cas bailed me out. He's been _nothing_ but helpful to me since he made that promise."

Sam tried to contain himself before he spoke, unlike Dean who had his back to the other two in the room, mumbling incoherent grumblings to himself. "Why'd he make that promise in the first place? Why's he so concerned with your safety?"

Frankie's lips had just parted before her tongue went limp. What was the point of telling them about the brand if it wasn't going to even matter in the grand scheme of things? The angels weren't going to come for her, and even if demons tried to get her it was going to be because she was a Winchester, not a super important human in Heaven's plans. It was just easier for everybody to forget about it. Heaven had a head start, anyway.

"It doesn't matter anymore."

Dean quickly turned around and stepped up to Frankie, causing her to lean back in surprise. Off to the side, Sam's phone lightly chimed. "I wanna know why he made that promise" Dean's voice was aggressive and commanding. It was scary, but Frankie found herself almost missing that tone. "You've been keeping way too much to yourself, and I wanna know why you've been keeping this from us."

Frankie inhaled deeply through her nose. He was right. The truth had to come out. And though she was terrified of what they would think, a part of the hope that still existed within her hoped they could find a way to help her. God, she wished they could.

"Okay, look-"

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed.

"What?!" Dean snapped, slightly moving his head in his brother's direction.

"I just got a message from Chuck!"

After a brief moment, his head turned all the way to Sam. "Chuck?"

Sam was staring worriedly down at the illuminated screen of his cellphone. "He's in danger. 'Life or death situation'!"

Dean abandoned his dictating stance over Frankie to stride over to Sam. "Lemme see," he grunted, gazing at the message sent by someone unknown to Frankie. "Vermillion, Ohio."

Sam looked to Dean. "That's only, like, thirty minutes from here."

Dean was already reaching for his keys. "Twenty in my car." He was halfway to the door when Sam spoke again.

"What about Frankie?"

Dean's feet stuck to the ground like it was made of tar. He took in a breath and then turned his head to the girl on the bed. Frankie stared back at her brothers, wanting to do nothing but make things easier for them – and for her.

"Look, I wanna avoid trouble as much as possible. You guys go on. I'll head back to Bobby's." She smiled sadly. "'Bout time I gave that ol' grouch a visit."

"No way." Frankie's brows narrowed at Dean. "We're not letting you outta our sight. You're coming with us."

She thought that was a terrible idea, but she wasn't about to argue with him.

Sam seemed to read her thoughts. He took a step towards her and softened his voice as much as he could. "If it's true that demons are out for your head, the safest place is with us." Despite his irritation at her recent decisions, he held his hand out to her. "C'mon."

Frankie stared down at his outstretched palm. Even though she wanted to embrace her brothers after being away from them for so long, she still felt the gut-wrenching need to shy away from Sam's hand.

She had so much time to work her feelings towards him out, but all that time to herself simply made her forget about being anxious around him. The sight of blood dripping from his chin still showed up in her nightmares. His demonic voice inside the panic room still echoed from deep within her psyche. She remembered what he did with those hands. He's the reason Lucifer knows about her and wants demons to bring her to him, and well… who wouldn't feel unease towards someone like that?

But, like her disagreement with Dean's choice, there was no room to argue. She'd have to fight through those feelings just like everything else. If she could.

She took his hand and he lifted her from the bed. She disconnected their hands the first moment she could. Sam gathered their bags in one swoop as Frankie followed Dean towards the door. Before they left, however, Dean looked her dead in the eyes, giving her an intense look he made sure she wouldn't forget.

"We'll finish this later."

* * *

The only times the Impala went under sixty-five were at stop signs, what few were on the backroads to Vermillion. Dean was booking it to this ever-mysterious Chuck fellow. All the while, they argued back and forth over what could possibly cause trouble for their accomplice.

Frankie was at first annoyed to hear them arguing again, but she soon realized that this spat was unlike the last few she encountered. It sounded more like the first time she heard them arguing, way back when she took her first ride in the Impala.

God, that felt so long ago. She had been through so much since that night. Ghouls, demons, a blood-sucking brother – she could fill an entire shelf of books on her experiences, but she'd sooner arrange for a bullet to visit her frontal lobe than to dissect those memories.

The Impala sped passed an ornate sign that read "Welcome to The Pineview Hotel" that was a complete blur to Frankie. Dean quickly turned the car along the path leading up to an old yet elegant dark wood house. Frankie leaned hard to the side as the Impala whipped back and forth until she reached a small parking lot.

Dean expertly eased her into park, and the moment he twisted her key out of the ignition, he and Sam were opening their doors and stepping out of the car. Frankie was sure they wanted her to stay behind, but they didn't say anything to her, so she decided to take advantage of that and followed them passed the other cars in the lot.

Frankie noticed the same moment Dean did. They both stopped in front a line of cars, all seemingly identical. All '67 Chevy Impalas.

Frankie had seen for herself at the markets in Alabama and the superstores across her travels how unoriginal drivers were on their choices of vehicles. She had seen Honda after Honda and three Pontiacs of the same model in a row, but this was simply uncanny.

"Dean. C'mon," Sam rushed, bringing his siblings out of their identical trances. Dean and Frankie followed Sam as he hurried towards a pacing man at the foot of a small staircase that led to the entrance of the building. "Chuck! There you are."

Frankie caught her first glimpse of this Chuck they were talking so much about. She didn't know what she was expecting, but it wasn't what she got. Honestly, she was underwhelmed.

He was smaller than she imagined – about as tall as herself. He was thin and frail looking. She could easily take him in a brawl, no question. His brown hair was unkempt and slick with sweat. It looked as if he had tried to comb it, but he raked his fingers through it too many times. His beard, while trimmed, appeared uneven in places and rushed. He exuded stress. Overall, she wasn't impressed.

He pointed alarmed eyes at the two men. "Guys?" he squeaked in a small voice. His eyes then flicked over to her. In an instant, his brows narrowed, and his now stunned eyes bore into her. Frankie was visibly taken aback by the quick look of unease –or was it panic – in his face at the sight of her.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, slightly panting from the jog over. The man's eyes tore away from her and focused on her brother.

"Uh, nothing. Y'know, just, um…" The three stilled, confused. He didn't sound like he was in danger. "I'm just kinda hangin'- w-what're you guys doing here?"

"You told us to come," Dean pressingly answered.

The man's face blanked. "Uh, no I didn't."

"Yeah, you did, you texted me," Sam uttered in an increasingly annoyed voice. "This address, uh, 'life or death situation', any of this ringin' a bell?"

Chuck tensely shook his head. "No, I-I-I didn't send you a text."

"We booked it all the way here!" Dean shouted, quickly growing irritated at the squirrely man.

"I'm sorry! I-I don't understand what could…" Chuck paused, realization slowly switching his face from baffled to frustrated. "Oh no."

"What?" Dean gruffly grunted, already fed up with the man's lack of peril.

The front doors of the building clanged open. "Sam?!" a shrill voice squealed. Sam, Dean, Frankie, and Chuck all gazed to the top of the steps where an excitable girl – barely able to contain herself – practically drooled at the very sight of the one she called. "You made it!" Her squeaking voice made Frankie wince.

The girl hurried down the stairs to stand in front of Sam, her eyes as wide as an owl's, boring so deep into his that Frankie was sure they would pop out of her skull.

"Oh, uh…," Sam muttered, "Becky, right?"

Her excited face dropped. "Oh… you remembered," she spoke, flattered at the mention of her name. "You've been thinking about me."

Frankie – despite all the screwed-up situations they had been through – had never seen Sam so uncomfortable. "I…"

"It's okay! I can't get you outta my head either."

Frankie couldn't hold it in. She had to puff out the smallest chuckle. It was funny! Seeing someone go beyond gaga for him was something she wouldn't have been able to picture had Dean simply explained the scene.

That small huff of a laugh was heard by the girl, and she flicked her bulging eyes over to Frankie. But those bulging eyes lost their excitement. They gained shock.

Just like Chuck, the girl – Becky – looked at her with a strange expression of unease, like they had seen a ghost. "Oh…," she spoke, her voice thankfully lower-pitched. "Oh, you must be Frankie! Them I expected, but you…"

Frankie froze. Who in the hell was this chick? How did she know who she was? Did Sam and Dean talk about her? Frankie softly shook her head, not sure what to say with Becky looking at her with those protrusive eyes.

But there was something else to those eyes. Not only were they astonished to see her, but they held something darker. Not evil, but… sad. Mournful almost. Which confused Frankie a hell of a lot more.

"I-I gotta say, I'm glad to finally meet you." Becky held out a stiff hand, all the while staring at her with those huge eyes. Frankie felt uneasy looking into them, like she could read her thoughts or something, but didn't want to seem weird and shook her hand. Becky's arm then stilled, those eyes taking a turn for the puzzled. They flicked over to Chuck, and then flicked back to her. "But… how're you-"

"Um, did you take my phone?" Chuck interrupted, now getting increasingly irritated at the girl.

Becky threw her weird attitude over her shoulder, forgetting it instantly, as she whipped her head over to Chuck. "I just borrowed it. From your pants."

Chuck sighed, shaking his head. "Becky-"

"What? They're gonna wanna see it!" the girl chuckled, her excitement filling her face once again.

"See what?" Sam, Dean, and Frankie muttered in unison.

"Oh my God, I love it when they talk at the same time!" Becky squealed.

Frankie made the judgment that she didn't like Becky. And she didn't like all the confusing shit she was spouting out. Frankie felt like the last one to get the joke, but the equally confused faces on her brothers made her feel like she wasn't alone in all this bull.

The front doors opened again, and this time the person coming out seemed a lot more normal. "Hey, Chuck!" A man on the larger side in a pastel yellow shirt and holding a clipboard waved the small man into the building. "C'mon, pal, it's showtime!" Becky excitably followed to man inside.

Chuck turned to the three standing across from him. His laden face told them enough that something was definitely wrong. "Guys, I'm sorry…" he shook his head, "for everything." He walked up the steps while grumbling under his breath.

Sam, Dean, and Frankie each shared puzzled looks before following the group into the building. They walked through the doors and were instantly hit with the sound of muffled folk rock playing throughout the spacious lobby of the hotel. Their first glimpses into the mildly crowded room were interrupted by a man, also on the larger side, holding a glass of alcohol chuckling lively as he approached the group.

"Hey, ' _Dean_ '! Lookin' good!" He proceeded to strut away before Dean grunted in confused annoyance.

"Who the hell are you?"

The man turned around, a bemused smile on his freckled face. "Uh, I'm Dean, too," he answered, gesturing to his outfit – a black shirt under a blue button up under a leather jacket, just like what Dean was wearing. He scoffed and turned to walk away. "Duh."

Dean turned to Sam, his face scrunched in bewilderment before it flared into a panicked stare at an approaching person behind him. Sam and Frankie turned to see a man in a mask, crafted to look like skin or some gross material stitched together, holding a scythe. Sam had a similar look of fright at the costume while Frankie stared at the small tufts of hay that stuck out from under his shirt. He was obviously some sort of scarecrow.

"Uh oh, it's Sam and Dean. I'm in trouble now!" the man jokingly remarked. "Have fun you two." The scarecrow then teasingly growled as he pretended to slash at them with his scythe and then carried on with his day.

Obviously freaked out with the first thirty seconds of entering the building, Dean turned to Sam, gesturing with a frazzled hand. "What?" he uneasily grunted.

They gazed around the room. It was adorned with colorful characters in every corner. Bloody ghosts, killer clowns, guys in mullets and trucker hats with cheap store-bought beards, and leather jackets _everywhere_. It seemed like your usual fall festival and Frankie thought nothing of it.

That is until she noticed a man behind some sort of merchandise stand with black eyes. Pitch black eyes. Just like a demon's. Except he wasn't slashing throats or torturing patrons. He was selling books and mugs with '67 Impalas on them.

She suddenly felt like she was in a very bad place.

"Becky…?" Sam uttered, surely feeling the same way she did. "What is this?"

"It's awesome! A ' _Supernatural_ ' convention. The _first ever_ ," she ardently declared.

They couldn't believe what they were witnessing. This was unlike anything they had experienced before, and they had been through a lot. This was definitely going into Frankie's hypothetical book collection.

Even after Becky left to join the other patrons, Sam, Dean, and Frankie continued to flick their eyes around the room. Ghosts, vampires, demons… hell, even angels made the cut! A girl with a long red wig and store-bought glittery angel wings held a conversation with a thin dude adorning a mullet and an open flannel shirt, exposing his bird-like chest.

Frankie somehow felt like the odd one out here. What the hell, and _how_ the hell?

"Guys…?" she piped up, turning her attention to a Bobby look-a-like. "What the hell?"

"Yup," Sam said with a nod of his head.

"Mind fillin' me in on what I'm missin' here?" She pointed her questioning eyes to Dean. "Who's Chuck?" She looked around her before lowering her voice. "Is he an angel?"

"No. Thank God," Dean scoffed.

Sam sighed before gently touching Frankie's shoulder. She repressed the urge to jerk away from him. He led her over to a secluded corner, Dean following closely.

Now away from potential eavesdroppers, Sam leaned close to Frankie. "Chuck's a… a Prophet of the Lord."

Frankie jerked her head back in disbelief. Of all the things she expected, that wasn't even on the list. "Prophet? Those still exist?"

"Unfortunately," Dean deadpanned. He grimaced at one of his look-a-likes ordering a Cosmopolitan from the bar on the other side of the room.

Sam continued to explain what was unraveling in front of them, his voice taking on a very uncomfortable tone. "Chuck is the author of ' _Supernatural_.' A novel series about our lives."

Frankie's eyes bulged, not unlike the girl's she met a few minutes ago. "Beg pardon?" She threw her eyes back over to the merch stand where piles of books were displayed, all with the title printed in large lettering on the cover. On one book, there were two men holding exaggerated weapons, one of the men being shirtless like a romance novel character.

And then it clicked. It came to her like a vision from _That's So Raven_. She remembered seeing one of those books a long time ago when she was living at Bobby's house. Well, technically at that point she was still a patient and they were waiting for her to heal. Time really does melt away when one is in peril. But more importantly: _that_ was a book about her brothers lives?!

Dean picked up on the explanation with a grumbling voice. "They're supposed to be the 'Winchester Gospel' someday. Now it's some geeky, pretty boy book series." He tiredly gestured to a nerdy looking guy with bright yellow contacts. "And now it's… _this_."

The guy handed a drink to a tan-skinned girl dressed in a dark yellow plaid shirt and a denim jacket. Frankie wondered which character from their lives she could be dressed as.

She realized who she was much too slowly.

The girl who she had never seen before that moment was dressed in the very same way that Frankie did. Flannel button up and denim jacket. She even had the same sneakers that she uses! But maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe she was supposed to be someone else. It wasn't like her usual outfit was original or unique.

The girl brushed her shoulder-length black hair behind her ear. Or rather, behind an exaggerated prosthetic ear that displayed an obvious bite mark where the lobe would have been.

Frankie took a deep inhale as she held her hands up defensively against a brewing freak-out. "Okay, this has officially reached Twilight Zone levels of surreal." She shook her head as she watched the girl dressed as her laugh at an unheard joke. "How am I even a character?! I just met y'all."

"Yeah," Dean growled, narrowing his sights on Chuck across the room. "That's a damn good point."

The three made a move towards the squirrelly man, but just as they made it halfway to him, the heavyset announcer with the clipboard ushered all the costumed guests into a large room. Grumbling at their missed chance to tear Chuck a new one, the trio decided to fall in behind the crowd and enter the room with them.

The room was nothing too special – aside from the large cardboard Devil's Trap displaying "First Annual SUPERNATURAL CONNVENTION" in bold lettering, acting as the backdrop to a tiny stage. About a dozen rows of chairs were sectioned in front of the small platform. Leather-clad patrons were rushing to claim the seats closest to the front while Sam, Dean, Frankie, and Becky elected to stand in the back of the room.

A lively murmur resonated around the room as they waited eagerly for the festivities to begin, all the while the three Winchesters in the back judged each and every one of them. Frankie, however, eventually found the attendee dressed as her. She wondered why anyone would ever pick her to dress up as. They could dress as an angel or a demon. They could dress up as Sam or Dean if they wanted. But she chose Frankie. The real Frankie didn't take her eyes off the girl, even when the hefty overseer walked onto the stage to stand in front of the microphone.

"Welcome to the first annual ' _Supernatural_ ' Convention! At three forty-five in the Magnolia Room, we have the panel 'Frightened Little Boy: The Secret Life of Dean.' And at four thirty, there's the 'Homoerotic Subtext of Supernatural.'" Frankie and Dean reacted in unison, both dipping their heads and raising their eyebrows in disbelief, while Sam furrowed his brows over crossed arms. "Oh! And of course, The Big Hunt starts at seven PM sharp!"

The room then erupted into a chorus of applause. Sam, Dean, and Frankie watched in baffled awe as the people went nuts over something completely unknown to them.

"Okay, but, right now-!" the man announced, trying to calm the cheering crowd, "right now I'd like to introduce the man himself. The creator and the writer of the ' _Supernatural_ ' books, the one, the only, Carver Edlund!"

The crowd ignited again in thunderous applause as Chuck nervously strutted onto the stage. Frankie could practically see him shaking from the back of the room. Chuck paced himself, awkwardly stepping closer and closer to centerstage until his quaking chuckle-filled voice spurt into the microphone, filling the room with a quick burst of shrieking feedback.

"Uh, okay," he mumbled, "good. This isn't nearly as awkward as I…" He cleared his throat as he wafted his hand in front of his mouth. "Dry mouth…" He stepped over to a small table set up on the stage with bottles of water waiting for him. He snatched a bottle and twisted off the cap before practically drowning himself. With one hand on the microphone and the other squeezing the plastic bottle, Chuck gulped and gulped and gulped, the sound of his quenching throat thudding through the speakers. Frankie wanted to facepalm from secondhand embarrassment.

Finally, Chuck's thirst was satisfied, and he sheepishly turned to his audience. "Okay," he whispered to himself. He cleared his throat and slightly raised his voice. "So, I guess, uh… questions?"

In an instant, every hand, save for those in the back, shot up into the air, begging for Chuck to call on them. Chuck gaped at the sea of hands, visibly overwhelmed. "Um… you?" He pointed to random guest in the crowd.

A man stood from his seat, very tall and thin with a receding hairline. "Hey, Mr. Edlund! Uh, big fan! Wow…" Chuck nodded with a forced smile. "Okay, I was just wondering, uh, where'd you come up with Sam and Dean in the first place?"

Chuck's eyes flicked to Sam and Dean in the back. Frankie could see the fear in his eyes. Her brothers tilted their head with a pestered, expecting gaze. Frankie simply squinted her eyes, wondering how he came to know so much about them – as well as herself.

"Oh, uh… I, uh… it just… came to me," he stuttered with a shrug. He tried to cover up his anxiety with a chuckle and a quick nod. Dean pursed his lips and nodded along with him, obviously displeased with his answer.

The hands rose in the air again, fervently shaking to gather Chuck's attention. "Okay, uh… yeah, the, uh," Chuck pointed to the hand that bore a plastic pirate's hook, "Hookman."

A man dressed in all black with a large hat on stood to his feet and spoke with a thick German accent. "Ah, ja. Vhy in every fight scene, Sam und Dean are haffing zheir gun or knife knocked avay by zhe bad guy? Why don't zhey keep it on some kind of bungee?"

Frankie tilted her head. It wasn't a bad idea.

"I, uh, yeah, I-I-I really don't know-"

"Ja, follow up," he interrupted, holding his hook-hand next to his head, "uh, vhy can't Sam und Dean be telling zhat Ruby is evil? I mean she is _clearly_ manipulating Sam into some kind of moral lapse. It's obvious, nein?"

"Hey!" Becky shouted, marching her way to his row, scowling the entire trip over. "If you don't like the books, don't read 'em, Fritz!"

Frankie's eyes widened. She was starting to kind of fear Becky.

"Okay, okay, just, uh," Chuck stammered. He held his hands up to calm down Becky and the pretentious patron. Frankie was beginning to feel uneasy amidst all the chaos around her. She couldn't imagine what was going through Chuck's head. "Okay. It's okay. So, uh, next question?" Once again, the many hands flew up, gaining an overwhelmed groan from the anxious writer. "Uh, yeah, you," he said, pointing to another random face among many others.

A casual-looking guy stood up, wearing a jacket that looked a lot like Sam's. "Yeah, at the end of the last book, Lucifer rais-"

"Hey, hey! No spoilers!" a guest wearing an FBI suit waved a hand at the guy. "Some of us haven't finished it yet!"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, let's avoid spoilers. Please," Chuck insisted. His eyes flicked over to Sam, Dean, and Frankie. Though, when she really looked into his eyes, she noticed they were pointing at her, not the three of them. She blinked into a puzzled stare, but he had turned his attention back to the guy with the question. He nodded, wanting him to continue.

"Okay, uh… the end of the last book was… really cool!" He dumbly chuckled to his friend before returning to the question. "So, uh, what happens next?" His curly hair friend, dressed as Dean, stood up beside him.

"Yeah! Can you give us a hint?"

Chuck looked like he was backed up in a corner. Between the expecting patrons and Sam and Dean's impaling glares, there was no way that he could stand to make himself look natural and not in peril.

"Uh… I-I can't give you a hint, no." A soft chorus of disappointed moans hummed through the crowd. "B-But… I _can_ tell you that you'll find out for yourselves very soon." Everyone's heads perked up, smiles slowly bleeding onto their faces. All except the Winchester trio. Frankie lifted an eyebrow. "The next book will be on shelves next month."

The room exploded with roaring cheers and pounding applause. Becky bounced with joy as superfans praised the Heavens for the news.

Sam and Dean struggled to mask their growing rage. Sam looked to his brother, his jaw tense with pent up anger. Dean could only scowl at Chuck. Frankie, however, simply marveled at the thought of anyone being so excited to wait a whole month for book. Then again, the book was about her brothers' lives. They were filled with more excitement than she could handle.

The introduction panel ended shortly after. The crowd dispersed into the lobby to continue shopping, enjoy comically themed drinks, and wait for the next panel to begin. Among the slight chaos of the many guests leaving the room, Chuck had a chance to escape to avoid running into the two angry hunters. Little did he know, they wouldn't give up so easily.

Frankie followed behind her brothers as they searched the room. Finally, they found him. He brought over two tall, yellow-colored drinks with pineapple wedges to Becky, who was sitting towards the center of the room. Sam and Dean shared a look before strutting over to them, Frankie following closely behind.

"Oh, hi, Sam!" Becky excitedly greeted as the three approached them. Chuck despondently gazed at Becky for reasons Frankie didn't really care about.

"'Scuse us," Dean gruffly greeted. "In case you haven't noticed, our plates are kinda full, okay? Finding the Colt, hunting the Devil, we don't have time for this crap!"

Frankie narrowed her eyes. The Colt?

"Hey, I-I didn't call you!"

"He means the books, Chuck," Sam sighed. "Why have you been publishing more books?"

"Um, for food and shelter?"

Dean leaned down to the man, his voice low and dangerous. "Who gave you the rights to our life story?"

"An archangel! And I didn't want it!"

Frankie's eyes faintly widened. She tilted her head at Chuck. He had ties to an archangel, too? Castiel did mention that they have brands on their souls, much like hers. Did that connect them in some way?

"Well, deal's off, okay?" Sam commanded. "No more books. Our lives are not for public consumption."

Chuck took in a deep breath, turning to the girl sitting next to him. "Um, Becky, could you excuse us for just a second?"

Becky nodded with those golf balls she called eyes. "Uh huh."

Chuck led Sam and Dean to an offset room to have a word with them. Frankie stayed behind, standing awkwardly next to Becky as she quietly sipped on her yellow drink.

Frankie kept her eyes on the corner where her brothers disappeared to. She wished she went with them. Now that she knew Chuck had affiliations with archangels, she wanted to know more about him. Which one was tethered to him? Did his archangel visit him often? Did it tell him about her? Is that how she's in the books? She had so many questions that she wanted to ask him, but she knew enough that the conversation didn't welcome her.

Her rambling thoughts slowed when a disruptive ruckus sounded behind her. It sounded like an argument. Or maybe a struggle? Narrowing her brows, she turned around to find out what was making such a distracting racket.

Her doppelganger was sitting at the bar, and she looked very uncomfortable. Two dudes, much bigger than her, dressed as Sam and Dean towered over her.

"Hey. Pipsqueak. I'm not gonna tell you again," the scraggly, redheaded Dean spat.

"Yeah, we said move," the Sam lisped through his braces.

Frankie turned all the way around, further narrowing her brows as she spectated the scene.

"Screw off. I was here first," the Frankie look-alike growled.

"Look at this bar," the ginger Dean grunted, pointing down at the other filled seats. "This bar is for _hunters only_. Monsters and villains sit over there." He pointed to a small space by the window where the ghosts, vampires, and evil clowns sat.

Frankie's twin turned in her seat to glare at the Dean-poster. "Frankie _isn't_ a villain." Her head snapped over to the Sam look-alike. "She's not a monster either."

"She sure as heck doesn't help anybody," Sam's twin grumbled.

"Um, did you even read the last book?"

"Yeah. We did," Dean's doppelganger scoffed. "And if _you_ read the last book, why would you dress up as the worst character?"

Frankie – the _real_ Frankie – recoiled against that remark. Her, the worst character? Surely not.

But then again…

" _I_ like her character. It's not my fault that I can actually grasp basic character development."

"You sayin' I can't?" Dean-poster grunted, shoving her shoulder. The real Frankie's defenses activated, her muscles tensing up.

"It doesn't take a genius to know that Sam and Dean woulda gotten to Lucifer _way_ sooner if Frankie hadn't existed," Sam-poster hissed, saliva spraying onto the helpless Frankie look-alike's face.

"Th-That's not true!" she sputtered, her lips quivering under the evil glares of the brutes.

"Go on and cry, Pipsqueak," the Dean-poster chuckled.

"Really suits the character," Sam poster chided.

That was it for Frankie. No one was going to insult her _and_ make an innocent girl cry.

She marched over to the bar, fists clenched and a prominent scowl pointed at the two assholes dressed like her brothers. "Hey!" she shouted. Their heads snapped over to her. "She said 'screw off.' I suggest you take her advice."

Dean-poster chuckled, wiggling his head in a mocking gesture. "Okay, ' _Frankie_.'" Still chuckling, the bigger man stepped forward, now towering over her. His face split into a challenging smirk. "And what're you gonna do if I don't?"

Frankie's scowl deepened, her eyes growing dangerously sharp. "I'd like to start rearranging that disgusting mug you dare call a face, _Dickweed_."

His face fell. A few tickled coos emanated from the few onlookers to the exchange. Frankie didn't tear her eyes away from the Dean-poster.

He furrowed his brows, his smirk resurfacing, though dimmer. "Really, Frankie? You're gonna hit me? What about 'rule number one?' Huh?"

Frankie's eyes blanked. _That_ was in the books? She supposed it made sense, but she wondered how much else these guys knew about her.

"Rule number one states that I should always listen to Dean. Not that I can't permanently imprint my knuckles in his face." Her quick wit caught him off guard. He tried to find something intimidating to come back with as the small crowd around them snickered at her remark.

"Y-Yeah, well… I'll print _my_ knuckles on _your_ face, _Frankie_."

God, that was lame. This whole guy was lame. Frankie rolled her eyes, and she tightened her fists, ready to sink them in his bulbous nose.

Sam-poster stepped forward as well, putting a hand on his friend's chest. "C'mon, guys. A fight's not necessary." Frankie winced at the spit spraying through his braces. "Just let it go."

"Yeah, let it go, _Frankie_ ," Dean-poster sneered. He gave a quick glance to his friend. "Go read a book or fold some clothes or something. We're just trying to have fun."

Frankie widened her eyes with an exaggerated smile. She nodded her head as if she perfectly understood their logic. "Right! Fun. That's why we're all here, right?" she said, gesturing to everyone around her. She got a few nods, but mostly blank stares. She turned back to Dean-poster with impish eyes. "So, uh," she continued, shrugging her shoulders, "y'know, while we're all having fun…"

Dean-poster was completely caught off guard when Frankie's fist smacked his nose with startling speed. If one had blinked, they would only have seen Dean-poster recoil in pain, holding his nose. He let out a pathetic whimper, plugging his nostril with his fingertips.

Frankie smiled, tilting her head with a hum. "Now that's good ol' fashioned fun right there."

"Oh, I'm bleeding. I'm bleeding!"

"You're not bleeding," his friend assured.

Dean-poster pointed a pained glare at Frankie. "Geez! What's your problem, lady?!"

"You," she answered, not missing a beat. "Now you gunna stay here and bitch, or should I go for your throat next?"

The blundering duo backed away, Dean-poster still plugging his dry nose and Sam-poster leading him away from the bar.

Frankie was so caught up with glowering them away from the bar that she didn't notice the small applause that she gained. She wouldn't have thanked them even if she noticed.

She turned around, finding her look-alike still sitting in her spot. Her shining green eyes were wide and filled with wonder and awe. Frankie, though she felt very awkward under her enchanted gaze, spared a small smile to the girl.

"You okay?"

Frankie's twin blinked, snapping out of a trance. She slowly nodded. "Yeah… wow… that was… _so_ cool!"

Frankie shrugged, unsure of what else to do. "Thanks."

"A-And thanks so much! I could… I would never be able to do that. You're… amazing!" Frankie puffed out a small laugh. "H-Here! Let me get you a drink."

"Oh, no. That's not necessary."

"Sure, it is! How often do I get to buy the _real_ Frankie a drink?"

Frankie froze. Her blood went cold. She had been recognized. She wasn't told that she should keep a low profile, but for her safety she should have been more careful. Any one of these geeks could be a real demon.

"I mean, wow! You look just like how I always imagined her. Eh, well, with a little shorter hair you would. And that punch! I swear you could, like, play her in a ' _Supernatural_ ' movie."

Frankie silently exhaled in relief. It was a joke. The cat was still deep in the bag.

She forced a smile as she sat down next to the girl. "You think so?"

"Oh, totally." She called a bartender over. "One yellow-eyed cooler, please."

The bartender brought over the same tall drink that Chuck and Becky were drinking before. She thanked the man behind the bar and the Frankie look-alike before taking a sip. She hummed and raised her brows. It was surprisingly delicious.

"So… can I ask you something?" Frankie's twin asked. She turned her head over to the girl.

"Yeah. Shoot."

Her twin's eyes moved from hers to her ear that poked out from behind her hair. "How in the hell did you get your ear to look like that?"

Frankie's chest squeezed. Ice ran through her veins. Her hand lifted to paw at her previously injured ear only to find that it was still injured.

No, that wasn't possible. Gabriel healed her! He couldn't have just left her ear chewed up! But it seemed he did. That fucking, two-faced bastard!

Rage pumped through her heart with every throb, but before her face could convey the anger she felt, her eyes snapped back to her expecting twin. She didn't know it was real, and she would never know. She at least had control over _that_.

She took in a deep breath and shoved a smile onto her face. "I looked up a tutorial online." It seemed to satisfy her.

Frankie continued to sip her drink to hide her irate frown towards Gabriel. Her twin took a gulp of her own drink of what appeared to be whisky. The girl was starting to act more like Frankie than Frankie was.

She was amused, to say the least, that anyone would want to dress and act like her. Her eyes traced her entire outfit. If her denim jacket had a few holes and tears it would look exactly like hers. And poking out from the back of her jeans was her very own machete. Clearly papier-mâché with the symbols drawn on with a sharpie marker.

Frankie smiled to herself. It was kinda cool to have her own twin. It was almost like she was famous.

Her face fell when she realized what she was famous for.

Her eyes flicked back up to the girl's profile. "Can I ask you something?"

Her twin turned her head over to her. After swallowing her mouthful of whisky and wincing, she spoke in an eager voice. "Absolutely!"

Frankie chewed the inside of her lip as she mulled over her next words. "You're a big fan of the books, right?"

The girl let out a chuckle. "Yeah. When Mr. Edlund isn't taking forever in between publish dates I am."

Frankie faked an agreeing laugh. She still had to keep the low profile of a regular patron. "So, um… you're a fan of Frankie's character, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely. We're a small bunch. Which is why I'm glad to see you here!" Her round face stretched as a wide grin appeared on her cheeks. "It's nice to see her getting the respect she deserves."

A small smile spawned in Frankie's face. "Really?"

"Yeah! People here just don't appreciate her like they should. They're always saying the surface level crap. 'Frankie's not needed,' 'Frankie causes too much trouble,' 'Frankie has terrible judgment,' 'Edlund made a mistake writing her'…"

Frankie felt her heart sag. It was as if a magnet was in her stomach, pulling it down with every example she gave.

They… really didn't like her. The others really thought those things about her. Which, she couldn't really blame them. She didn't exactly exude the traits of a hero like her brothers. Yet, the girl in front of her gave her unique sympathy.

"Why?" she asked. "What is it about Frankie that you like?"

The girl lightheartedly rolled her eyes and groaned with enthusiasm. "Where do I begin? Okay, well, I guess the first thing I liked about her was that… well…," suddenly, the girl's boisterous eyes saddened. "I never got to know my dad either. My mom left him before I was born, and… he got into a bad accident when I was nine before I could meet him."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Frankie consoled. And she truly was. She knew what that was like. The girl even knew about it. Just not that it was really her.

"It's cool," she shrugged off. "I guess I could relate to her. And then, she shook off the shock of finding out she had three half-brothers and took on that ghoul even though she never met a monster before! She coulda died right there in Minnesota, but she didn't care 'cause she would do anything to save her new brother and his mom!"

As horrible as she felt for realizing it, she had forgotten about Adam again. She never did find out what happened to him. Was he okay?

"And I _love_ that she's a cryptozoologist! That's something he hasn't really touched on. I just wished she used her knowledge a bit more. I feel like it went to waste."

"Well, as it turns out, thunderbirds and peryton aren't as prominent as ghosts and demons," Frankie sighed. The girl found that funny instead of factual and chuckled in Frankie's face. Frankie simply smiled through her laughter. "What else do you like about her?"

The girl looked off into the distance with a smile. "I dunno. She's just so… real. Y'know? She felt like a real person. A friend. She's… smart. And supportive. And caring. Some say she cared too much. Even I think so, but I don't think it's a bad thing, y'know? Sam and Dean _need_ someone to care that much about them. They're too busy pushing each other away that they don't realize how much else they're pushing away. Frankie was there to… to bring them together. To give them someone they can push and shove and shout at, but always have her by their side. She was forgiving. Even when she ran away, she didn't _really_ leave them, y'know?"

Frankie stared blankly at the girl. Her eyes may have looked unresponsive, but inside was a different story. Her guts curdled and tingled. She didn't even know if it was a good feeling or a bad one. All she knew was that she seemed to be looking at her life all wrong.

"Oh, one of my _favorite_ scenes from this last book was when they were looking for her and the Impala stopped at a gas station and Sam was getting snacks, but Dean didn't go inside. He walked to the edge of this lake as the sun was going down – kinda like how he and Frankie did when they were in Alabama – and he had her note in his hands. And he just read it over and over again until he got so mad at himself that he crushed it in his fist and almost threw it into the water, but he just couldn't. Because that was the only piece of her that he could hold onto until he got her back." The girl wafted her eyes. "Ugh, tears! I cried for, like, ten straight minutes."

Frankie's heart cracked. "Mad at _himself_?"

The girl looked back at Frankie with a raised brow. "Well, yeah! He was never _really_ mad at her. He felt like her taking off was his fault. He pushed her too far and he felt like he failed her as a mentor _and_ as a brother. All he wanted was to get her back so that he could right his wrong and treat her more like a sister than a student."

Frankie's throat shrank as the girl's words hit her ears. Did she really mean that much to Dean? Enough to track her down, not to punish her, but to undo his toxic treatment of her? The tightness of her throat choked her, tears bubbling at the bottom of her eyelids.

"Didn't you read the book?! That was a huge part of the later chapters! Dean realizing that he was treating her like John treated him and doing whatever he could to change that!" The girl's face turned towards her drink, her expression turning somber. "Just wished he got the message across before it was too late."

Frankie's brows furrowed. "Too late?' she muttered, but her voice was muffled by the folk-rock thrumming through the lobby.

The girl knocked back the rest of her drink and turned back to Frankie, leaning her elbow on the bar. "So, I went on and on about what _I_ like about her. Why do you like Frankie?"

She thought about that question. And she thought about the girl, and the words she shared. She thought about how much more she knew about her than she did. And she thought about what it truly was that she liked about herself.

She smiled and shook her head. "I don't." Her twin's face fell. "I think she's more trouble than she's worth. I think that Sam and Dean coulda done way better if she never got involved." Her smiled widened. "But I dunno. After talkin' to you… maybe I should reconsider." The girl's face broke out into a bright, contagious grin.

A voice called from the other side of the room. "Carls! C'mon!" Frankie and her twin looked over to see a girl wearing a short black wig and adorning a tan trench coat. Oh God, Cas got roped into this, too.

"Ugh, that's my friend. I gotta go," the girl sighed. "It was so great talking to you. And thanks a million, again!" As she stood from her stool and walked past her, she placed a hand on Frankie's shoulder, sending her a kind smile. "I think you should reconsider. Seems like you've got her all wrong." She walked off, leaving Frankie alone at the bar.

She gazed into the curvy glass of her tall drink. Her morphed reflection blinked back at her. Her smile widened, a ghost of a laugh whispering passed her lips. It truly was a bazaar interaction, but it left her with a lot to think over. Notably, how one person's different perspective of her could reignite something she thought died months ago.

* * *

The day went on and eventually turned to evening. Frankie noticed fairly quickly that her brothers were absent from the festivities. For a good while, she thought they might have taken off without her. She tried to look out a window to search for the Impala, but she found twelve of them parked outside.

She ultimately knew they wouldn't leave her. Not after her misadventure without them. It was strange enough that they left her alone in the building, but she chocked it up to confusion in the mess of the place.

To fill in time before reuniting, Frankie people-watched in the lobby. She observed the different kinds of people that were attending the convention. She wondered if any of them liked her as much as that one girl did. Though, when a Bobby walked by her with a scowl pointed her way, she put a big, bold "X" over that thought.

There were only so many sour looks she could get before her mind dipped into a dark place. So, to fill in the rest of the night, she attended the different panels that the convention offered. Needless to say, there was a lot more homoerotic subtext in her brothers' lives than she ever wanted to know about.

Frankie then found herself bored in the middle of the lobby. She leaned against a beam with her arms crossed, growing agitated by the minute. Where were Sam and Dean? She hadn't had a glimpse of them since they walked off to talk to Chuck. Every time she thought she saw them it was another imposter in MacGyver jackets.

She rested her head against the beam as she scanned the room. She huffed when she still didn't see any familiar faces, but that changed when her eyes landed on the bar. Becky and Chuck sat on stools next to each other. They certainly weren't the liveliest couple. Becky was tapping her fingers on her curvy glass with a bored frown, and Chuck was basked in an anxiously flunking gloom. Frankie found it sadly funny.

Becky excused herself with a strained grin. Chuck nodded with a forced smile, but she didn't notice. Once she was out of sight, Chuck's face fell, a huffy sigh shooting out from his throat.

Frankie shook her head, feeling pity for the piteous man. She felt secondhand embarrassment just looking at him all alone at the bar. So, since she had nothing better to do, she walked over to the bar.

"Well. You sure do throw quite the shindig."

Chuck flinched mid-sip of his drink. He glanced up, shock in his bright blue eyes. He was seemingly surprised that she was the one to approach him. He pulled a timid smile. "Thanks. To be honest, this was my publisher's idea. And Becky pressured me into it. I'm not really…," he eyed a passing guest with black eyes, "comfortable with all of this."

Frankie nodded, finding the two bullies chatting across the room. "Ditto. This's the first time I had a conversation with myself that didn't take place in my head. Not really a fan." Her eyes flicked back down to Chuck. She pulled a fake smile as she set herself down in Becky's seat. "Just realized this's the first time we're actually talking one-on-one. Not the most ideal place for introductions, but might as well start now." She held out her hand. "Frankie Pearce."

Chuck smiled with a tense huff of a chuckle. "Chuck Shurley." Frankie looked into his eyes long enough to see the mild appreciative glint turn dark. His eyes clouded over with a somber haze. Frankie narrowed her brows at the strange look in them, as well as the fact that they were still holding hands without shaking. "S-Sorry, it's just…," he sputtered, taking his hand back. His entire face appeared to wilt. His laden eyes bore deep into her own. "The last time I saw you…"

Frankie lifted a single brow. Saw her? They just met. How could he…?

And then she remembered who she was talking to. Her face leveled, an understanding nod bobbing her head. "Right. Prophet." She looked his form up and down. "This's the first time I've ever met a Prophet of the Lord." She puffed out a befuddled chuckle. "Not really sure what to say."

Chuck attempted to shove away his solemn aura in exchange for an awkward one. He tightly smiled at her. "You can say anything. I'm just an ordinary guy."

Frankie raised both eyebrows, her smile stretching into a smirk. "That writes about monster hunters stopping the Apocalypse and saving the world, all of which just so happening to be true."

Chuck's chuckle was a little more genuine than the last. He shrugged with a bashful grin. "Write what you know, I guess."

Frankie continued to stare at the man, puzzled. This guy seemed barely able to handle himself in a crowded room. Yet he was what passed as a Prophet of the Lord nowadays? He truly was a mystery. As were his abilities to know about her without them previously meeting.

Narrowing her eyes, Frankie rotated towards him on her stool. "So how does this all work?" Chuck furrowed his eyebrows at her. Frankie gestured flimsily around her. "How do you write about our lives?"

"Oh. Uh, well… I get visions." Chuck curled his fingers into a loose fist, tapping it on the counter as his voice got higher with growing discomfort. "Usually starts with a headache, then I drown myself in alcohol 'til I pass out. I get these… _really_ vivid dreams, and when I wake up," he swept his arm out towards the festivities before them, "I turn it into this. Seems more impressive than it actually is."

Frankie switched her gaze from an evil clown to Chuck. She rubbed her canine teeth together as she pondered over the question on her tongue. "So… you know all about me?" Chuck pressed his lips together and nodded. "How much?"

His eyes widened as he sighed. He linked his fingers together with one of his elbows resting on the bar. "Well, uh… I know you were born in Hollis County, Alabama on November twenty-second, nineteen eighty-seven. A rainy Sunday afternoon."

"Oh sure, start with the boring facts," Frankie humorously huffed.

Chuck exhaled a laugh. His wide smile told her that he was relaxing a bit. Thank God. "Okay, uh, well… I know that when you were six you slipped in the bathtub. Chipped one of your baby teeth."

Frankie's eyes bulged, her jaw slightly slacking. "You know about _that_?"

"Yeah." He pointed to his teeth as he grinned. "Front left tooth, chipped in a clean diagonal angle."

Frankie nodded with an astonished scoffed. "Okay, yeah. You're legit."

Feeling cocky, Chuck added, "And I know about Miss Teedles."

Frankie's eyes sharpened into daggers. "Then you should know that we _don't_ talk about Miss Teedles." Though her voice harbored a steely edge, her tone was playful. Chuck snickered, causing her to follow along. "Anything else from my childhood you wanna reveal?"

Chuck's chuckling died down. His jaunty grin dimmed, fading until only a dismal frown was left. His eyes darted to the floor. They averted her own. He _averted_ his eyes. That was never a good sign in her experience.

"I, uh…," he muttered. His voice took on a grave tone. "I know about the accident in ninety-nine. When you were twelve."

Frankie's head pulsed with a dull headache. Tendrils of fear slithered along the walls of her chest, polluting her breath with heavy dread. The distant sound of honking horns and screaming called from the dark abyss in her skull.

Her glare was not filled with humor anymore. "We don't talk about that either." Chuck sank into himself, muttering a soft apology as she composed herself. She stole her neighbor's glass of whisky without them noticing and inhaled a gulp. "So, you know pretty much everything then," she pressed on.

Chuck timidly nodded. "Pretty much."

The suffocating tendrils remained, though they throbbed when her mind raced to yet another traumatizing event.

"So… you know. About my soul."

Chuck's throat bobbed with a gulp. "Yeah. I do." He looked out to the distance, yet he stared at nothing. "' _Sympathy For the Devil_ ,' chapter twenty. You sell your soul to a crossroads demon for ten years of health."

Frankie's chest involuntarily squeezed out a sigh. Great. Another person knew of her sin. In fact, since that was in the book, everyone in the room knew about it. That is, except for Sam and Dean – at least she hoped they didn't. Not yet.

But his answer didn't completely answer her question.

She nodded at nothing. "And the other thing?"

Chuck's brows narrowed, his eyes darting back to her. "What other thing?"

It was Frankie's turn to narrow her brows and dart her eyes. She stared blankly at the man. "The other thing about my soul. The brand? The one like yours?"

Chuck continued to stare at her, wordless. His blue eyes shined with confusion, his pupils switching between her two honey irises. For too long, it seemed, he sat in silence.

"No, I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."

Frankie froze. "What- you're serious? You're a Prophet. You speak for God. How do you not know about this?"

Chuck's eyes bore into her own. "I never wrote that into the books. I didn't even get that in a vision." His eyes squinted with a leery emotion that she could not decipher. "What brand?"

Frankie didn't like this. If he knew every other detail about her life, why did he not know this one? It was a pretty damn big plot point in her life, was it not?!

Had Gabriel not popped in and told her the truth the night before, it would have cemented the theory that Cas made everything up.

But he didn't. It was real. And that was why the new development made her guts feel like they weighed a thousand pounds.

"Well, uh…," she stammered, " _apparently_ , Heaven originally had plans for me. They marked my soul. Supposed to be a ' _human to be protected_.' Like you. Got my own archangel and everything." She sighed, looking to the floor. "But then the Apocalypse started going on longer than expected and… guess they don't really need me after all."

As Frankie snatched the drink of her oblivious neighbor, Chuck leaned forward with a baffled stutter. "Who-who told you about this?"

"Cas," she nonchalantly answered before taking a gulp. "Yeah, it wouldn't really be something to worry about – in fact I should be boundin' off the walls – but a demon found out about it and… she's surely gunna tell Lucifer. That's if she hasn't already." Frankie shoved down the overbearing weight of her collapsing world and leaned back with a wide, forced grin. "So, who knows how long I've got? Might as well live it up while I can." She lifted her neighbor's drink into the air and knocked back the rest just as he was noticing that his beverage went missing.

Chuck sucked in a heavy breath. His eyes were filled with a gaudy shade of torment. Something within him tortured his soul, and that added to the many things she was worrying about. "Frankie, um… I-"

"Hey, Chuck." Chuck and Frankie turned to see the heavyset curator of the convention. "I'm setting up for your next panel. Could you give me a hand with this outline, pal?"

Frankie wanted to flick the guy off. She wanted to shout at him to leave them alone and for Chuck to continue what he was going to tell her. Whatever it was had to be important!

But Chuck just gave her a guilty look and stood from his stool. He walked off with the heavier man, leaving Frankie alone at the bar.

How could Chuck not know about her brand? That took a huge chunk out of her life, didn't it? Sure, it was a fairly new development, and sure, it didn't matter in the long run, but it was still a big part of her. Maybe Heaven elected to not include that in his visions. Yeah, that was probably what happened.

But then… that look her gave her… that tormented, ominous gaze… She saw a sliver of it when they first met eyes outside the building. And even Becky showed a similar sign of that expression. No, things were not feeling right at all.

Her eyes darted to the side and landed on the table with books on it. To the far right of the table was the latest book, _Sympathy For the Devil_. She was in that book. Chuck said so himself. And her twin had mentioned her running away, which meant her latest problems were inscribed within the pages.

There was something very wrong going on, and the answer was in that book.

A loud thump sounded as the bar vibrated. Frankie threw her eyes to the other end of the bar where someone had slapped the counter.

Her eyes widened when she finally found her brothers. Dean patted a thin man's shoulder as he and Sam began walking away. A larger man sitting beside the thin one turned and spoke to them.

"Hey." Her brothers turned to look at him. "How did you know how to do all that?"

"We, um," Sam spoke. He shrugged and gave a small smirk. "We read the books." They turned back around and left the two at the bar.

It seemed like her brothers had a little adventure. Great. They went off and no doubt had a fun time while she figured out that everybody hated her and that her brand wasn't even important enough to make it into the damn story.

She swallowed her bitterness as Sam and Dean approached Chuck and the curator while they went over the preparations for the next panel.

"Hey, Chuck," Dean called, gaining the smaller man's attention. "Good luck with the, uh, ' _Supernatural_ ' books. And screw you very much." Though he was surely expecting it, Chuck looked wounded from the remark.

Sam turned towards the door and headed that way as Dean turned towards the bar, locking eyes with Frankie. He beckoned her with a swipe of his hand. "Let's go."

Frankie hesitated. Her eyes flicked over to the table of books. She couldn't leave without figuring out what the hell was going on. But the pressing gaze that Dean shrouded her with overpowered her aching need to know. And hell, who knew? Maybe she didn't want to know anyway…

She begrudgingly stood up from the stool and walked behind Dean as he and Sam headed for the door. Frankie glued her eyes on the latest book, never tearing her gaze away from it as they approached the door.

They pushed against the double doors but were met with a rattling of the hinges. They door didn't open. They tried to push harder, but it still wouldn't open. They tried to pull despite the bold "push" instructions on the handle to no avail, and Dean even tried to unlock the already unlocked door.

They turned around, looking back into the lobby with furrowed brows and suspicion in their eyes. "That's weird," Dean guardedly noted.

"Definitely," Sam confirmed.

Frankie rounded them and tried to open the doors herself, but was met with the same result. "Um, guys? What's going on?" Sam and Dean glanced at each other, hidden meaning in their steely eyes. "Guys?"

Finally, they turned around and lowered their voice. "We gotta go check something out," Dean spoke, seriousness lining his voice. "Stay down here and keep your eyes sharp. We'll be right back."

Frankie wasn't deaf to the small hint of urgency in his words. She switched her gaze between his green eyes, searching for any clue as to what the hell was going on. Despite her curiosity, she nodded. They immediately turned and headed into the many different areas of the hotel.

Frankie was beginning to feel more not right than before. But she didn't have time to dwell on her own feelings. Dean gave her an order. Stay there and keep her eyes sharp. But… what was she supposed to look out for?

The people must be in danger. What else could it be? Sam and Dean going missing, having an adventure with their own set of twins, the doors mysteriously jamming, the urgency in their attitudes… there was danger within the walls.

Great. A case just dropped into their laps. Frankie already swore herself off hunting. Why did it seem to find her now?

Frankie decided that the best thing to do was to not panic and do as she was told. If there was danger, she had to protect the convention's guests. She stepped further into the lobby to scope out the crowd.

And then she noticed them filtering into the same room they held the introduction panel in. Frankie cursed under her breath. Well, she couldn't protect them from out there where there was no one around. She had to go where the people went.

Frankie was the last to walk into the room. She took on her previous position of standing in the back of the room. She crossed her arms and kept her eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary.

This panel was more boring than the others. Chuck stood on stage, his voice trembling through the mic, and went on and on about his past and his "inspiration" for the books. Frankie now knew it was all bullshit. None of this was his own invention. He just put it to paper.

Chuck's speech turned into a motivational lecture about how _you, too, can write a book series if you only believe in yourself_ and other crap that middle-aged pretentious pricks spit out. It was around that time that he seemed to notice some members of the crowd dozing off. He shuffled his feet awkwardly on the stage and cleared his throat.

"So, yeah, uh… questions?"

Just like the last panel in that room, hands shot into the air and waved for him to pick on them. He went doe eyed as he clutched the mic stand like it was his lifeline.

Frankie just about dozed off as well as various patrons threw their oddly specific questions at the writer. Questions including characters known as Azazel and Ash and Bela and Rufus murmured throughout the room. Adam's name even popped up once, and Frankie forced herself to tune out the rest of the questions until the dull ach from that name went away.

"Well, guys, uh, I guess we're-we're outta time, so…," Chuck awkwardly stammered into his mic. Frankie's tired eyes snapped open when she noticed Sam hurriedly making his way to the stage. "Thank you for your incredibly probing and _rigorous_ questions, and have a good- hey." Just as Sam reached him, Dean appeared next to Frankie. He placed a hand on her shoulder and whispered into her ear the same moment Sam whispered into Chuck's.

"There's killer ghost kids in the building."

"What?! Holy crap!" Chuck shouted for the both of them. Sam covered the mic with his hand as he spoke quietly to Chuck. Frankie, on the other hand, could only gawk at Dean in silence.

"I know," her brother added. "But this's life or death, okay? You gotta keep everyone in here safe. You got it?" Frankie nodded her head, but her jaw remained slack. "You remember what to do?"

"Salt the doors and keep iron close," she answered, not missing a beat. Dean patted her shoulder, and for a quick moment, there was a tiny smile in the corner of his mouth.

"Atta girl."

Sam walked off the stage, leaving Chuck small and alone with hundreds of eyes on him. "'Kay, so, uh… good news. Uh, I got much more to tell you. I guess," he tensely announced with a strained smile and nod of his head. "It's awesome."

Sam made his way to the back with Frankie as Dean headed to the lobby to round up everyone who was left, including bellhops, maids, and the manager.

Sam approached his sister with an edgy disposition. "He tell you what's going on?"

Frankie nodded her head and watched as Dean closed the doors behind him. "Yeah. Don't worry. I'll handle things in here."

Sam nodded, a tight half smile on his face. "I know you will." Frankie looked at his smile. Her head wanted her to smile back, but her heart refused to let her.

Frankie began salting the doors as Sam and Dean mumbled over details about the apparent ghost kids. They seemed to come to a conclusion about something and brought a girl dressed as a ghostly woman over to them. Frankie heard enough of the mumbling to figure out that they wanted her to lure the kids out.

Though Frankie had sworn off hunting, she couldn't deny the deep longing to help her brothers with the ghosts. This was what she trained for. This was what cost her many nights of good sleep because she was studying for moments exactly like the one she was in.

But her decisions lately cost her the chance to act on her training. She was destructive and impulsive. Best to just keep to the books and put away the machete.

As they figured things out, two guests, the same ones they talked to at the bar, walked up to them. The heavier of the two with the subpar goatee spoke first.

"We wanna help."

Dean turned to Sam, lowering his voice. "Just give her the puppy dog thing, okay?" Sam huffed and turned back to the ghost lady as Dean addressed their doppelgangers. "Guys, no."

The thinner and taller one stepped closer to Dean. "Why not?"

"Because this isn't make-believe."

The guy dressed as Dean held up a hand. "Look, we know. We're not nuts. We're freakin' terrified."

"Yeah, but if-if all these people are seriously in trouble," the Sam spoke up, "we gotta do something."

The real Dean shook his head. "Why?" he tersely asked.

"Because," his twin answered. His brows were narrowed in confusion, perplexed at Dean's lack of understanding. "That's what Sam and Dean would do."

After some quiet contemplation, Dean nodded with a huff.

Frankie tried not to find offense that they would take two dudes who had no idea about the real world of monsters and hunting with them instead of her. She tried and failed.

' _Frankie, you idiot,'_ she scolded herself. _'You gotta stop making shit about you, you fuckin' bitch.'_

She was right. Staying with the people was the best place for her.

Sam, Dean, Sam, and Dean left the room to go take care of the ghost children, leaving Frankie to watch over their potential victims. Chuck carried on, talking about anything and everything that came to mind. After every sentence or two, a hand would shoot up and he would call on them. He tried whatever he could to keep them seated and safe.

Frankie's eyes darted around the room, keeping her sight sharp. She scanned the room over and over and made sure to check the salt lines were clear and unbroken. The fate of the room depended on her, and she wouldn't let her brothers down again.

"Uh, yes. You?" Chuck said, pointing to a guest in the crowd.

"Yeah. Uh, I have a question about the last book? I just wanted to know, what's the purpose for Frankie's character?"

Frankie's eyes flicked over to a Sam in the crowd.

"U-Uh," Chuck stuttered into the mic. "What do you- what do you mean?"

"Yeah, I'm just a little confused, 'cause, like, she doesn't really do a lot? She's just kinda there a lot of the time?"

Another guest, dressed as Bobby, addressed the question, half-raising her hand before speaking. "Why have her in the first place?"

Frankie glared at her.

"Were you trying to reach out to the female demographic? 'Cause you could've just stuck with Jo if you wanted a female hunter."

The first guest spoke again. "And you never really went anywhere with her selling her soul. There's was a lot of lost potential there."

Suddenly, Frankie's twin made herself known. She stood from her seat, scowling at the two critics in the crowd. "You're not looking at her character! She doesn't have to destroy a vamp nest or exorcize a demon to be an interesting character!"

A guy with gray face paint made to look like a ghost piped up from his seat. "But she's not an interesting character, though."

Frankie's double whipped around and stabbed him with a glower. "Says you!"

"No, he's right," the girl dressed as Bobby chimed in. "What exactly does she do that's so profound?"

"Besides the ending. I mean, that's fine," the first guy added.

"Even then," Bobby's double interjected, "it was unjustified. Sure, it made sense for her character, but it didn't _need_ to happen."

"And how would _you_ have acted in that situation?!" Frankie's twin shouted.

"U-Uh, okay. Okay, let's calm down, guys," Chucked failingly soothed.

" _Well_ , I would've done what I was told. Yet again, Frankie disobeyed Dean and got herself in trouble! And because of that, she puts them in the worst possible position!"

"But that's her character! She takes charge and does what she thinks is best!" her twin vouched.

"Guys!" Chuck tried again.

"But what she thinks is best isn't what's best!" the first guy exclaimed.

The ghost dude shot up from his seat, glaring at her twin. "Yeah, the only good thing she did for anyone was get herself killed!"

An icy, jagged thorn pierced through Frankie's chest. A dull ring buzzed in her brain, instantly making her dizzy. She lost all control of her muscles, her jaw slacking, her shoulders drooping. Had she not been up against a wall, she would have fallen on her back.

What… did he just say?

The room erupted into a roar of disgruntled guests. They fumed, practically foaming at the mouth, at the spoiler that just spouted from the ghost dude's mouth.

What did he just say?!

She… _dies_? She dies at the end?

No. No, it couldn't be true. She still had time. She had ten years. She couldn't die. Not yet!

Her eyes felt like they weighed a hundred pounds as she lifted them to look at Chuck. His eyes were locked onto her, his own jaw suspended.

No. It couldn't be true.

Frankie's felt like she was surrounded by molasses. She turned her head to an offset stand where all his books were on display.

Her eyes narrowed on _Sympathy For the Devil_.

She couldn't feel the pounding of her feet as she ran across the room, and she couldn't feel the rapid beating of her heart, but the pain there was proof enough that it was still inside her.

She rammed into the stand, nearly toppling it over, as she snatched the latest book.

"Frankie!"

She hurriedly opened the book, tearing pages as she frantically flipped to the end.

"Frankie, Frankie, Frankie! What're you doing?" Chuck sputtered over the thunderous crowd.

His words fell on deaf ears. Her eyes darted over little black letters, stretching lines and paragraph and paragraph and paragraph. Page after page after page after page, looking for her ultimate demise.

The book slapped shut. Chuck's hands held the book closed, refusing to let it budge from his grasp.

"You don't wanna do that."

Frankie's doe-eyes melted away, leaving nothing but a heartless glower pointed at the man. "No, I really fuckin' do!"

Chuck tried and failed for a soothing smile. "Fr-Frankie, you know h-how in shows and movies they always tell you, uh, no one should know too much about their own destiny? W-Well, cliché as it sounds, heh, it's true."

Frankie thrust her scowl in his face, causing him to lean back in fear. "I was just informed that a _prophet_ has predicted my death, and it's in this book."

Chuck's eyes were bathed in a grave gloom. "Trust me. You don't wanna know."

"Yes. I do."

"No! You can't know about your own fate!"

"But everyone else can?!"

Chuck looked down, shaking his head. "I'm so stupid. You aren't supposed to know about this."

"Well, your first mistake was putting it in a goddamn book! Revealing the future, Chuck? Really?! Now the world knows what happens to me in the end, and it _hasn't even happened yet_!"

Chuck cracked a depreciating grin. "Well, not the world. A couple thousand readers. And that's being generous." Frankie's piercing glare quickly shut him up. "S-Sorry."

"Gimme the book, Chuck. I've gotta prevent my death."

The man gave a soulful sigh. His head lifted, his eyes connecting with hers. There was sorrow in those blue irises. "Do you even want to?"

Frankie recoiled. Of course she wanted to! She didn't want to die!

"What kinda fuckin' question is that?"

Chuck pressed his lips together as he released the book. "I know how you think. What you think of. I wrote it. You keep telling yourself that you should die for your brothers' sake. That you wanna go out a hero. You wanna die for them. Because they mean everything to you."

Frankie's fingers twitched against the book's cover. Her disdainfully quirked lip softened.

"I can't let you know about how you die. And, believe me, you don't wanna know. It's not the prettiest way to go." Frankie's breath hitched. Her head began to reel with possible outcomes. "But I _can_ tell you… Frankie, you don't die in vain. Forget what those guys said. You _do_ die a hero. And if… I don't know it'll happen, but if you try to change the future, that might not happen. You understand?"

"Yeah. It might not happen. Because I won't die in the first place!"

Chuck was beginning to get irritated. He raked his hand through his tousled brown hair. "Sam and Dean have _tried_ to change the future. They read the books, too. They tried to do the opposite of what was written." Chuck's eyes were filled with solemnity. "It didn't work. Every time, it righted itself out. What's written won't be changed. Fate will find some way to kill you."

Frankie's breath slowly seeped out from her lungs until there was nothing left. It couldn't be true. I just couldn't be.

But it was.

The prophesy was written in stone. And paper. There really was no way to prevent it, was there?

But Chuck brought up a valid point. Her future looked bleaker than bleak. She had nothing ahead of her but an angry family and a horrific death by hellhounds. This way, she didn't have to go through that. She could live out the rest of her days with her brothers, standing beside them. Standing _tall_ beside them. She would go out a hero if – and when – it killed her.

She gazed at the man with suddenly wet cheeks. "When?" she asked, her voice cracking.

Chuck sighed, his eyes downcast. "Thursday."

Frankie face paled. Her heart deflated like an opened balloon.

Three days? She only had three days left?

Suddenly, she didn't want to die. Knowing her time was almost up, that by Friday she would be drinking her own blood in teacups with demons in Hell, she wanted to cling to her pathetic life. But there was no stopping the inevitable.

Chuck glanced over Frankie's shoulder, the color draining from his face. "Uh, excuse me!" he shouted. Frankie turned around to see the manager of the hotel walking towards the door. "U-Uh, you really can't leave! Please, sir." The manager sneered at him, clearly fed up with the arguing of the nerds around him and reached for the handle. "Don't open that door!"

He opened the door, breaking the salt line. Before he could take a step out of the room, a ghost made its presence known. A child sporting a wicked grin unveiled a butcher knife. He glared desirously at the manager's scalp.

Frankie watched in slight horror as Chuck grasped a spare mic stand and sprinted over to the door. He arched the stand and struck the ghost boy before he could slay the manager, causing him to go up in smoke. The manager backpaddled as fast as he could as Chuck slammed the door shut.

"I said no one leaves, dammit! Now, somebody salt this door."

Amidst the chaos in the room, Frankie wondered if Sam and Dean were having as much a horrible time as she was.

* * *

By morning, the ghosts were dead to the world, and everyone was evacuated from the building. Police cars and an ambulance were waiting out front. Apparently, someone got scalped after all. Oh well. Everyone died eventually.

And in Frankie's case, she kicked the bucket on Thursday.

She stood by herself against the hotel, her arms crossed and tightly hugging her body. Sam was talking to Chuck and Becky, who now appeared to have grown close. Dean was in front of the entrance to the hotel, chatting with those two fans that helped them take down the ghosts. But Frankie… Frankie only had herself to talk to.

Her and the knowledge that she was about to go to Hell.

How the hell was she supposed to tell them? How do you tell someone you love, who is fighting so hard to keep you safe and alive, that you won't make it to the weekend?

God… she did love them. Despite everything – the arguing, the grueling training, the chaos, the despair, the disappointment – she loved her brothers. She wasn't ready to say goodbye. She wasn't even ready to tell them about her soul! And now, spilling her secrets might very well be the last thing she does before she bites the dust.

She was determined to not make that so. She didn't want them to remember her for her mistakes. She had to make the rest of her life count. She had an eternity to spend in flames. Might as well bring some good memories down with her.

Sam beckoned Frankie over. It took a moment of concentration to get her legs moving again. As she passed the now happy couple, she glared at Chuck. He ducked his head and averted his eyes.

She followed Sam to the Impala where Dean was grinning to himself. "You okay?" Sam asked his brother, rounding the car to the passenger side.

Dean nodded his head. "Yeah, you know, I think I'm good."

Frankie opened the back door and ducked inside without a word. At least one of them was.

The Impala soon sped off. Sam and Dean regaled their ghostly adventure in the hotel to a silent Frankie staring out the window.


	36. Chapter 35 - Powerless

**A/N: Whoop, there it is.**

* * *

Frankie stared through the window at the passing world. The ride from the Supernatural Convention went quiet after Sam and Dean finished the tale of their wild adventure with Leticia Gore, her son, and the three murderous boys that hunted down the superfans.

Frankie didn't retain a word they said.

The old her would have hung onto every word. The old her would have questioned them on what Leticia Gore looked like or how they managed to nearly have their heads scalped by little boys. However, the old her didn't know what she knew now.

She was living the last few days of her life.

It didn't feel real. There was air in her lungs. She could move her fingers and toes. It didn't click in her head that by Thursday the air would be gone, that her fingers and toes would wiggle for the last time.

Time seemed like an afterthought when one was thinking over their foreseeable demise. She didn't know how long they had been driving for. She didn't know when mountains turned into forests. She didn't know how long Sam had been staring at her through the rearview mirror. All she could see was Chuck's eyes on that stage when the truth came forth. All she could think of was the many black letters in that damn book spelling out the inevitable.

The Impala vibrated as Dean pulled off the road into gravel. He parked in front of a shabby and vacant rest stop. He and Sam stepped out of the Impala at the same moment. Frankie didn't feel like using the rest stop. Whether or not she had to go to the bathroom didn't matter. It took too much energy to move her legs, and all the energy she had left was being spent wondering what she was supposed to do with the final two days she had left.

Dean tapped on the glass with his knuckles, making her flinch in surprise. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, motioning for her to join them. Frankie didn't feel like doing anything. Moving, talking, breathing, it all seemed useless now.

He lifted an expecting eyebrow. Frankie knew it would make things worse to ignore his command. A small huff blew from her nostrils as she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. Her feet crunched against the gravel as she exited the Impala. Sam and Dean stood on the other side of the car in front of the dilapidated shack of a building.

She shoved her hands into her pockets as she approached them. A normal reaction would be to ask them what they were doing or to at least lift an expecting brow of her own. Her face wilted the moment they left the hotel and it hadn't changed since. A frown and a matching pair of hallow, despairing eyes defined her sunken features. It was clear that her brothers wondered what haunted her so, but they kept their minds to their current mission.

Dean closed his eyes. "Cas. Zap your ass down here. We gotta talk."

Almost instantaneously, Castiel appeared with the soft sound of fluttering wings and shifting gravel. "Hello," he greeted, his voice as monotone as usual.

The sight of Castiel nearly brightened Frankie's eyes. Nearly.

"Well, good," Dean said with a tight, unsmiling smile. "Now that we're all here together, one big happy family, let me make something perfectly clear." He held up a hand, gesturing between Castiel and Frankie. "This whole secret relationship you two got going on? It ends now. Okay? No more secrets."

Castiel looked over to Frankie. She kept her eyes to the ground.

"I've _had it_ with people lying to my face. Cas, we asked for your help over and over again, and what did you say?" Dean mocked Cas' monotonous mannerisms. "' _I can't find her. I don't know where she is._ ' Then we hafta hear from Frankie that you've known where she's been since she left!" Cas' eyes flicked to his shoes. "So tell me, man. What's so important that you hafta go off and lie to us? To _me_ , Cas."

When the angel's eyes returned to Frankie, Sam stepped in while crossing his arms. "Frankie, you mentioned Cas promised you he would keep you safe from harm."

"Why?" Dean practically barked, pointing his steely eyes at the angel. "I wanna know everything. When did you two even start _talking_ to each other?"

Frankie swallowed to loosen her throat. It was tight and dry. She knew she needed to tell them, but her damn fear had its fingers pressed to her windpipe.

"I will tell them if you want me to," Cas muttered to her, his voice as gentle as it could be with his gruff tone. Sam and Dean shared a befuddled look before returning to the two.

Frankie shook her head and cleared her throat. "No," she rasped. She swallowed again to try and clear her voice. "No, that's okay." She took in a deep breath, finally looking her brothers in the eye. "When you were taken by angels," she said to Dean, "I prayed to Castiel for help. I didn't know what else to do, and… well, he was the only angel I knew of that didn't try to kill me. He told me he was guarding you, and I begged him to let you go. I tried to convince him that he didn't need to be the bad guy. I guess it worked, I dunno." Her half-smile was half-assed. "That was the first time we actually talked. The next time we met, it was actually in a dream. It was after I was let out of the hospital. He said he had something important to tell me, and he didn't wanna risk anyone else hearing it."

Sam and Dean looked very interested now. Dean joined his brother in crossing his arms.

"What did you tell her?" Sam asked Castiel, shooting him a probing look.

Castiel sent Frankie another questioning glance. He was silently asking for permission to answer Sam's question, seeing as it was directed to him. Frankie pressed her lips together in an attempt at a small smile and nodded her head.

Castiel gazed back to the boys with encumbered eyes. "Frankie is not an ordinary human. She is to be protected."

Dean shook his head. "Okay, neat. _Why_?"

Castiel's sigh was quiet, barely audible. "When I first saw her, I noticed that her soul burned brighter than either of yours. This isn't a novel occurrence. It appears in specific humans. Joan of Arc, Gandhi, the Virgin Mary…" Frankie narrowed her eyes. "I was confused and, I suppose, interested as to who this girl was, and why she was with you. I gazed through her into her mind and into her soul. That was when I saw something, a mark. At the time, I assumed it was nothing special. Perhaps I was just seeing things. It wasn't until our next meeting that it was clear to me that she was harboring a branded soul."

Dean's brows furrowed. Sam's eyes widened.

"Branded? W-What does that mean?" Sam asked, adjusting his feet in the gravel.

"It means that at some point in time, Heaven had a use for Frankie. They planned to use her in some manner, similar to the way they use prophets. Even true vessels have a mark of some sort on their souls." The boys had uneasy twinges in their eyes. "What's curious is that she is neither a prophet nor a vessel."

"Alright, so what is she?" Dean bit. His eyes snapped over to his sister. "What do they need you for?"

A cloud fogged over Frankie's eyes. They were lost to the forest behind her brothers, unfocused and misty. "I would give _anything_ to know," she rasped. "The past couple weeks, Cas' been trying to figure that out. But… the other night, my 'guardian archangel' dropped in for a visit." Frankie's eyes refocused on her brothers. They wore equally muddled faces. "Gabriel."

"Wha- Gabriel?!" Sam exclaimed. " _He's_ your archangel?!"

"Unfortunately," Frankie sighed. "And that's why my face is fixed." Frankie gestured weakly to her face. "Gabriel. He came into my motel room and told me that… h-he told me…"

After everything, she still couldn't get it out with feeling the prodding thorns of disappointment and failure.

"Heaven decided to ignore her significance until the Apocalypse came to fruition," Castiel finished. "Since you two are putting up much more of a fight than expected, she is the least of their worries."

Frankie's cheeks warmed in anticipation as she waited for her brothers' voices. She clenched her fists in her pockets.

"You've known about this since we left the hospital?" Sam snapped.

"And you didn't think even _once_ to tell us about this?!" Dean barked, stepping towards Frankie. She feebly stepped back.

"Are you kidding?" she breathed out. "I wanted to tell y'all the moment Cas told me. But…"

She couldn't tell them the _whole_ truth. The whole truth would put all the blame on Castiel. He was the one who suggested they keep it a secret from them despite her reluctance. Even though it was kind of his fault, she didn't want Sam and Dean to be madder at him than they already were.

"But we agreed it would be best to not mention it to y'all until we fully understood it ourselves."

"And how well'd that work out for you?" Dean growled, stretching his arms out in an exaggerated gesture.

"Wait, does Meg know about this?" Sam ardently asked. "She possessed you. Does she know?"

Frankie tried to swallow. It hurt going down her tight throat. She shakily nodded.

Sam pressed his hands onto his hips, repressing his rage behind a loud huff. He looked down to the ground as he reeled in his anger.

"Sonnuva bitch," Dean grumbled under his breath, turning away from Frankie and Castiel. "Is that why Lucifer wants you?"

" _No_. No, I-I don't think so. He's much more interested in Sam and Dean's little sister than Heaven's Plan B, anyway."

"Yeah, well, forgive me if that doesn't make me feel better about this," Dean spat.

"And you don't know that for sure, anyway," Sam scoffed, finally looking up from his tiny fit. "You don't know how useful this information is to him. Unless there's _more_ you're not telling us."

Frankie's eyes blurred with rising tears.

"Well don't keep us in suspense, Frankie." She lifted her eyes to Dean, careful to not spill the tears in them. "What _else_ are you keeping from us?"

Frankie shook her head, her bangs tapping against her cheeks. Her throat squeezed like a python's belly. "Could you… could you please not yell?" she squeaked.

Dean blinked, furrowing his brows. "Not yell- she wants me to not yell," he hostilely muttered as he turned his head to Sam.

"Well, what do you want us to do?" Sam asked, shrugging his broad shoulders. "You and Cas have been keeping all this from us and you don't expect us to be pissed off?" He shook his head, his hair bouncing off his face in the same way as hers had. "How're we supposed to react?"

Frankie gulped and took a deep breath. "Believe me, y'all have every right to be mad. It's just…" She sighed and brought a hand up to her face. "There's no time to be angry."

Dean's brows shot up. "No time? No ti-," he scoffed. He shuffled his feet in the gravel as his voice lowered to a growl. "Okay, Frankie. You're right. There's no time for this, so why don't you go lay down, take a nap, and check back in with us when you _decide to be a freakin' adult_!"

That voice – hardened by frustration and strident with rage – acted as the two hands needed to shove Frankie right over the sheer cliff of despair.

Her eyes flooded, finally spilling over like an overflowing sink. She sucked in a stuttering breath and exhaled a shuddering sob. She hugged her arms, her only defense against the failure of a stoic stance against her brothers' anger.

Sam and Dean watched with battling emotions of exasperation and concern as their sister broke down in front of them.

"What's wrong?" Dean huffed.

She forced a hand to her eyes, trying to soak up her tears through her skin.

"Frankie?" Sam pressed with worry under his voice.

The sound of the gravel next to her shifting sounded before Castiel's gruff yet gentle voice did. "Are you alright?" She could practically see the confused squint in his eyes.

She shook her head and sucked in a sharp breath. "No, u-uh," she stammered. "I, uh, I'm not-… I…" She lifted her head, but kept her eyes closed. The tears did not cease bubbling under her lashes. "I learned something dis-disturbing at the convention."

Dean groaned under his breath. "You sat in on that 'Homoerotic Subtext' panel, didn't you?"

Frankie opened her blurry, wet eyes to glare at her brother. Sam did the same. Dean held up his hands in a weak defense against their unamused scowls.

"What did you learn?" Sam asked, looking back at her.

Frankie looked into the now negotiating eyes of Sam. Behind the calculating gaze – the one that always scrutinized every situation – was the kind glint of the brother she used to know. The one that offered her a ride to her motel, the one that was certain she was his family the day they met. He was still in there, buried under the determined and reckless man who secretly sought justification for his faulty decisions.

She looked into the irate eyes of Dean, just as she had done many times before. Her heart ached as she gazed into them now. Months ago, she only wanted to impress him. She wanted to be the best student he could ever ask for. And more than that, she wanted to prove that she was worthy of being his family. She wanted to live up to the Winchester legacy. Now, she was a joke. She ran out on him, and in doing so, she made him believe it was his fault. It was hers for not being able to be a good student, a good sister. She failed him. And she was going to go out a failure.

She sniffed. A tear warmed her pink cheek. Her lungs were only able to take in a small, trembling breath.

"I'm gunna die."

She didn't take in a single breath in the following silent seconds. Her lungs blazed, desperately pleading for her to suck in air, but she was too afraid when her brothers were looking at her the way they were.

They blinked, their eyes narrowed and mouths slightly agape. Even Cas stared at her with those squinted eyes and his damn tilted head.

"What?" Sam and Dean blurted together.

"What do you mean?" Cas asked right after.

Frankie finally inhaled – coughing slightly as she did – and let out a great sigh. "I'm in Chuck's latest book. Right?" Her brothers nodded. Cas' eyes squinted more. Frankie licked her lips, slowly inhaling through her nose. "I don't make it to the cover."

Just saying it aloud caused her breath to hitch, another sob threatening to crawl up her throat. She swallowed it down before it could do more damage.

"Chuck predicted my death. And he wrote it into the book. You… know what that means?"

They didn't need to confirm it. They all knew – all three of them.

"You're sure?" Dean grunted, his eyes now wide and shining with apprehension.

Frankie bitterly shrugged. "The fans sure seemed to think so. Chuck certainly didn't help by telling me himself."

Sam gawked, bringing a hand to his mouth and rubbing it as the information sank in. Dean shook his head before speaking again.

"Well that don't mean anything. Not everything he writes comes true. We've changed things up before."

Sam's head shook as he slowly removed his hand from his mouth. "We _tried_ to change things. It never worked. It always came right back around and found a way."

Dean's eyes lingered on Sam. His head reeled, trying to find any evidence of that not being true. When he couldn't, he turned to Castiel. "There's a way to change it, right?"

The angel was quiet for a long moment. His eyes were pointed to the gravel, a somber look behind his blue irises. He slowly lifted them, yet didn't look at any of the Winchesters.

"What the prophet has written will come to pass. He writes God's Word into his books. That cannot be altered." His eyes found Frankie's. Her breath hitched a second time when their gazes connected. "If it is written… Frankie will die."

The crack in Frankie's heart was so severe that she could swear the others heard it. But her eyes did not spill with tears. Her throat gave no shocked gasp. This was old news to her. It only pained her to see the hope drain from Sam and Dean's faces.

Sam's throat bobbed as he audibly gulped. "How?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Frankie's shoulders were too heavy to pull into a shrug. "He wouldn't tell me. Something about ' _not knowing too much about my own destiny_.'"

Sam nodded. Dean glared at everything but the girl herself.

"When?" he grunted, more spite in his voice than Sam's. "Do you know when?"

Frankie's lip quivered. She bit down on it to stop its incessant shake. She hugged her arms tighter.

"Thursday."

The stunned silence sucked the life out of their surroundings. The birds stopped chirping. They seemed to disappear altogether. The wind vanished, hushing the leaves awning them. Whatever had been rustling in the nearby bushes stilled.

"Thursday?" Sam breathed out, incredulously. His eyes glistened in the sunlight, displaying the utter despair in them.

Dean had been still for the longest time, but once Sam whispered that damn word, he refused to dwell on it. He forced a deep breath into his lungs as he stepped towards Frankie. He resonated such an aura of anger that she was unable to move a single muscle in its presence.

"You listen to me," he growled, his eyes impaling hers. "You're not dying Thursday or next week or _ever_ , you hear me? You are _not_ dying."

Frankie used whatever air that was left in her lungs to answer him. "B-But the prophesy-"

" _Screw_ the prophesy!" he shouted. He looked up to the sky, holding his arms out to whatever listened. "Huh! Screw the damn prophesy!" He threw his attention back to Frankie, stepping closer to her. He grasped her shoulders, giving them a small shake. "You can leave once, but, dammit…!" For a split second, Frankie saw through the crack in his tough façade. She saw fear. "You're not getting off that easily again."

Frankie gazed sorrowfully into his broken eyes. He tried so hard to come off as determined and encouraging, but he couldn't hide from her. He never could. She saw that he was scared. He knew this was something he had no control over, but that wouldn't stop him from trying everything he could to stop the inevitable.

He wouldn't lose her again.

He held up a pointing finger, aiming it at her. "You: you're not dying." He pointed his finger at Castiel. "And _you_ … no more lying, dude. I _will_ kick your ass."

Cas nodded, disappointment coating his mechanical face. "Understood. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, whatever." Dean turned back to Frankie. His eyes lingered on hers for a few moments. Something ran through his head when gazing down at her. Whatever it was had saddened him, but he shrugged it off with a sigh. "You and Sam go back to the car. I'll be there in a sec."

Frankie nodded her head and turned around to go back to the Impala. Though she wanted to say something, or maybe just smile and nod, her student instinct kicked back in for the first time in ages. She had to follow rule number one, no matter how long it had been since she last did.

She and Sam sat back in the Impala as Dean spoke to Cas about something. Whatever it was that they were talking about, it was serious enough to cause Castiel's eyebrows to narrow and his eyes to harden. He nodded before flying off, almost like he was sent on some sort of mission.

Dean returned to the driver's seat and got back onto the road. The three refused to say a word. Enough had been said. All that was left to do was think about the new development and wonder what the hell they were going to do about it.

* * *

A long while passed in the Impala. The longer they were on the road, the more Frankie felt sick. Not nauseous, like a kid on a long road trip with a belly full of Skittles and Coke. She felt the kind of sick that wasn't so quick. She felt sickness like it had been when she lived in Alabama.

It was sitting within her, just waiting for its time to shine. The faint, dull dormant ache was a constant reminder that her death was just over that next hill. This time, the hill was smaller. She could practically see right over it.

Every passing hour, minute, second felt like it was going to waste. Were these going to be the final moments she took down with her? Gazing out a window and feeling sorry for herself? She had done that far too much in her life.

The trees stopped spawning through the glass long enough for Frankie to notice a shimmering sky. Her head perked up. It wasn't a sky, but a large lake, glistening blue from the reflection of the vast sky above it.

A deep want pulled in her chest. She wanted to stand on that pier. She wanted to inhale the musty smell of the water. She wanted to feel it on her toes. It would certainly be the last time she ever did.

"Can we pull over?" she peeped from the backseat.

Dean looked at her through the rearview mirror. "Why?" His brows furrowed when she went quiet. Her eyes were filled with sadness as she looked out to the lake. Dean tapped his finger thoughtfully against the steering wheel, before sighing and turning it off the road. He parked his car in front of a small shack with busted windows. "Okay, what's up-," he went to ask the girl, but she was already out of the car. He and Sam shared a confused look before following her out of the car.

"Frankie!" Sam called out. She was already walking onto the pier that stretched out over the water. "What's going on with her?"

"Beats me," Dean huffed.

Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother. "You know her more than me. She ever done this before?"

"Eh, yeah. There was that time in Alabama after her house got… sold…"

It dawned on Dean that she was doing this to cope. Back in Alabama, her world felt like it was crumbling when she found out her childhood home was given to someone else and that all her memories were shoved into a storage unit. She felt like she lost the last thing that made her who she used to be. A Pearce.

Now, she had come clean about her soul being marked up and learned that she was going to die before Heaven did anything about it. He didn't blame her for needing a moment to herself.

He flinched out of his thoughts when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He picked it up and flipped it open. He hummed as he answered the call and lifted it to his ear. "Cas. Talk to me." Sam leaned against the hood of the Impala and looked out to the pier, gazing worriedly at his sister. "'Going down?' Right. Okay, Huggy Bear." Sam glanced back at his brother with a brow quirked. "Just don't lose him." Cas agreed and hung up. Dean shoved his phone back into his pocket and returned his eyes to Frankie on the pier.

He sighed and walked over the pier. Sam followed behind him, keeping his distance. His eyes narrowed on the girl as she stood at the end of the pier, gazing out to the ruffling waves on the lake's surface. His feet stopped next to hers. He glanced down at her before looking out to the water.

"You okay?"

"No," she immediately answered. Dean nodded, his eyes flagging for a moment. "I just… I just needed a moment. Thanks."

"Do you wanna be alone?" Dean asked, looking down at Frankie. Her lip trembled. She shoved her hands into her pockets and sniffed.

"No," she quietly answered. "Please stay."

Dean nodded. "Okay," he said, his voice just as quiet. He looked behind him. There were a few lawn chairs under a rotting awning at the other side of the pier. He walked over and grabbed two.

"Sam," Frankie called out. Dean's head perked up and turned to his brother. Sam looked just a shocked. "You, too." Sam looked over to Dean. His brother merely shrugged and picked up a third chair.

Dean returned to Frankie and set the chairs down at the end of the pier. Frankie set herself down in the middle seat, Sam and Dean settling down in the other two.

"Ah, well. This's nice," Dean idly stated, trying to fill in the silence.

After a long, uncomfortable moment, Sam looked over to his two siblings. "Um, what're we doing?" Dean glared at Sam. He would have thought Sam would be smart enough not to question Frankie's intentions. The taller Winchester shook his head with a confused look on his face.

Frankie let out a small sigh and looked down to her legs. "I just wanted to have a nice moment. We've been separated for so long… I missed out on so much." She took in a long breath through her nostrils and lifted her gaze to the water. "If I'm gunna die, I wanna have something good to remember."

"Frankie," Dean halfheartedly scolded. "What'd I tell ya? You're not gunna die. I promise."

"Don't promise." Frankie's voice was small and broken. "Please don't promise."

Sam leaned closer to Frankie. "We're gunna do everything we can to keep you safe. Trust us."

Frankie shook her head. "No, don't." Sam and Dean furrowed their brows, nearly glaring at the notion of not protecting their sister. "These past months, you've been doing everything you could to protect me. But it's been distracting y'all from stopping the Apocalypse. Look where we are. We're nowhere closer to killing the Devil."

Dean huffed out a small laugh. "That's what you think," he said with a smirk. Frankie quirked a brow at him. He sent her a passive wave. "I'll tell you about it later."

Frankie squeezed her eyes shut. "I just… wanna take precautions. _If_ I die…" Frankie reached out, clutching her brothers' hands. "I wanna remember this. I never wanna forget it. Forget y'all…"

Dean, obviously uncomfortable with the situation, gently eased his hand out of hers and instead rested it on her shoulder. "Hey. Listen. You gotta stop talking like that. If you keep thinking about dying, it's gunna drive you straight to the looney bin. Now I told you you're gunna be alright and I mean it. You hear me?" After a few moments, Frankie nodded. The three went back to staring out at the lake.

Dean looked at Frankie from the corner of his eye. To have her sitting beside him, to know she was within arm's reach, filled him with a long-awaited relief. The day they discovered that she had vanished, he was distraught, but more than anything, he was pissed. Pissed at himself for pushing her beyond her limits. Pissed at himself for expecting so much of her. Pissed at himself for driving her away.

The day they met, he wanted nothing to do with her. But when he followed her into the woods that one day and found her training herself, he knew she was one of them. She had their moxie, their determination to prove herself. When they started training, he got to see who she truly was.

She was someone who would do anything to be part of a true family. She was a girl who wanted nothing but to impress her brother and be a part of his life. She was his student, but more important than anything, she was his sister. And he had failed her.

They searched for weeks, and they finally found her. Only now he had been told that he was going to lose her again.

He couldn't lose her again.

Dean bristled against the somber thoughts. He looked down at Frankie. A sad smile hid behind a gruff mask. He hated this sad silence that had fallen over them, and he hated how he put it there.

Frankie took them aside to make a happy memory. After weeks of nonstop misery, all she wanted was one good moment with her brothers. The least they could do was give her that. After all, they ruined her first case, drove her to run away, and then toted her along to a freaky book convention starring them. He was obligated to do something nice for her.

His smile breeched his somber mask. "You know what?" he spoke, lifting himself from his seat. Frankie and Sam looked up with curious stares. "I completely forgot. I got you something," he said as he looked down at Frankie. "Back on your first case. I picked something up for you. You left before I could pass it on."

Frankie's heart clenched. He got her a gift? Great, one more thing to make her feel awful. "What is it?" she asked, but Dean was already walking over to the Impala. She turned to Sam with a raised brow. He simply shrugged, just as puzzled as her.

" _I was totin' my pack along the dusty Winnemucca road…_ "

A smile broke out on Frankie's face as the rustic tone of the singer's voice played through the Impala's speakers.

" _When along came a semi with a high an' canvas covered load…_ "

She turned around to see Dean walking back across the pier, three beers magically appearing in his hands.

" _If you're goin' to Winnemucca, Mack, with me you can ride. And so I climbed into the cab and then I settled down inside…_ "

He handed a bottle to Sam and Frankie, the girl beaming as Dean smirked down at her.

"You didn't," she giggled.

"Oh, I did," Dean scoffed.

" _He asked me if I'd seen a road with so much dust and sand. And I said, "Listen._ "

Sam gazed at the two with a baffled look on his face. "Johnny Cash?"

" _I've traveled every road in this here land_."

"Johnny freakin' Cash!" Dean exclaimed.

" _I've been everywhere, man! I've been everywhere, man! Crossed the desert's bare, man, I've breathed the mountain air, man!_ "

Dean and Frankie sang in unison, "Of travel I've a'had my share, man! I've been everywhere!" Frankie trailed off, laughing like a fool.

"Ready?" Dean said, sitting back down in his chair. Frankie locked firm eyes with him, both taking a deep breath and singing together with one breath.

"I've been to Reno, Chicago, Fargo, Minnesota, Buffalo, Toronto, Winslow, Sarasota, Wichita, Tulsa, Ottawa, Oklahoma, Tampa, Panama, Mattawa, La Paloma, Bangor, Baltimore, Salvador, Amarillo, Tocopilla, Barranquilla, and Padilla, I'm a killer!"

They both leaned back, trying to gather their breath back through their joint laughter. Sam chuckled off to the side. "You guys are actually insane."

"Oh, what?" Dean grunted with a smile. "We can't enjoy the one thing we have in common?"

"Since when do you like country?" Sam asked, popping open his beer.

"I don't," Dean blurted, pulling a grimace. "But he gets a pass."

Dean and Frankie continued to sing along to Johnny Cash's music from the cassette Dean bought for her. Sam continued to shake his head with an amused smile as he drank his beer.

For that moment in time when it was just the three of them, enjoying music and beer and the rich smell of lake water, things seemed just fine. That sickly feeling in Frankie's stomach was as good as gone. For that moment at least. But it didn't matter if it came back. She had that moment to keep with her. To remember.

She gazed out to the vast murky water in front of them. One thought came to her mind, and instead of repressing it as any normal person would, she stood from her chair. "Y'know what? Screw it." Sam and Dean narrowed their eyes as she stepped forward towards the edge of the pier. " _If_ I'm gunna die, this's the last chance I'll get to do this."

Her brothers stood to their feet and watched in amused shock as she leapt off the pier, curling herself into a cannon ball before splashing into the olive-colored water. Sam coughed out a tickled laugh as she resurfaced and spat out the water into a mist.

" _What_ are you doing?" he chuckled.

Frankie backstroked with a grin on her glistening, wet cheeks. "Come on in! Don't keep me waitin'!"

His eyebrows shot up. "Uh, no." Dean cracked a smirk at his brother. "Your clothes are soaking wet."

"What? 'Fraid to get a li'l damp?" Frankie taunted.

Sam rolled his eyes, a rebuttal on his tongue. He only let out a small utterance of it before Dean shoved his back and pushed him into the lake. Sam let out a wail as he plummeted into the murky green water fully clothed. Frankie choked out a snorting guffaw as he resurfaced and whipped his hair out of his face like a little mermaid.

"You-," he gasped as Dean held his knees with laughter. "You sonnuva bitch!" he chortled.

"Hey, you need it, man. You're starting to stink up my car."

Sam furrowed his brows. An almost sinister smirk grew on his face. "Yeah?" He swam up to the edge of the pier and grabbed Dean's ankles. "You don't smell that great yourself!" He yanked Dean into the water before he had any time to react.

Dean fell less gracefully than Sam did. Frankie and Sam picked up their joined laughter as Dean gasped for air. "You dick! You got my jacket wet!"

"What's the matter, Dean?" Sam asked, his smile darkening. "'Fraid to get a little damp?" Dean splashed Sam's face with water as the latter wheezed out a snicker in response.

Dean climbed up the ladder and stood on top of the pier, dripping and darkening the wood. "If either of you think you're getting into my car wet…," he grumbled, taking off his jacket and fanning it out.

After they had their fun, Frankie and Sam climbed out of the lake, still whispering quiet laughter as Dean wrung out his clothes. They finished their beers while their clothes dried enough to appease him.

Frankie really needed that moment, and she could tell they needed it, too. Despite his grievance over his soaked jacket, Dean walked back to the Impala with a half-smile on his face.

Just as they were approaching the Impala, Dean's phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out, flipped it open, glanced at the caller ID, and held it to his ear. "Cas. What's shakin', bacon?" As Dean listened to the angel on the other line, Sam leaned against the hood of the car and Frankie sat in the backseat with her feet on the gravel. "That's okay. You did great. We'll take it from here. Where do we find this guy? … Yeah. Thanks, Cas."

Dean took the phone from his ear. He scrolled through his contacts before dialing another number. It rang a few times before someone answered. "Jo, it's Dean. Bobby go over the plan?" Frankie looked up at her brother. There was a plan now? "Don't worry, you'll be great. Listen, I'm sending you the address. You an Ellen meet us there as fast as you can. We'll link up there and take down this Sonnuva bitch, alright?" Dean opened the driver's side door and crouched into his seat. "Yup. Okay. See you soon."

Sam sat in his seat as Frankie pulled her legs into the car and shut the door. "What's going on?" she asked slowly.

"Remember when you said we were nowhere closer to killing the Devil?" Frankie lifted a brow to Dean as he pulled back onto the road. "We found the Colt."

"The Colt. You say that like I know what you're talking about."

Sam turned his head towards her. "To make it short, it's a gun that can kill anything. Or… presumably anything."

Frankie lingered her stare on him, processing the very idea of a weapon with such an ability.

"We lost it a while back. This chick we had a run in some time ago supposedly gave it to Lilith," Dean explained. "Turns out she was a lying bitch. The chick, not Lilith. Then again…"

"She apparently gave it to her right-hand man," Sam continued. "And, if what Becky says is true, he still has it."

"So, we thought we'd drop in for a visit, maybe have a few beers," Dean jokingly shrugged.

"And… you wanna use the Colt on Lucifer?" Frankie wasn't sure about this. How could a gun kill an archangel, let alone the _Devil_? "Will that work?"

Her brothers were quiet for a moment, though their silence spoke a million words.

"Well, death guaranteed or not, it's the plan we got," Dean sighed. "Unless you got a better solution? Since you're, y'know, Heaven's favorite?"

"Dean," Frankie sighed.

"Hey, I'm just sayin'. This whole 'God's got a plan for you' crap is an untapped goldmine. Could be useful if we figure out what you're good for."

"Cas and I already thought of that. Gabriel flushed that theory right down the John."

"Gabriel helped you before," Sam offered. "Maybe you could get him to help us take down Lucifer."

"What, are you kidding?" Dean scoffed. "You heard him. He wants us to say 'yes' to his brothers. The only help you'll be getting from him is being hand delivered to the Devil. At least it gets us to him."

"It wouldn't work anyway," Frankie huffed. "Gabriel's long gone. He said what he needed to and took off. Wouldn't be surprised if I never saw that dick waffle again." Frankie sat back in her seat and crossed her arms. "So, how're y'all getting to this guy anyway?"

"Where this prick is, Cas can't get inside. It's warded. We expected a bunch of guards and we were right. So, Jo – you'll meet her later – she's gunna distract 'em so me and Sam can get in and take care of him. You and Ellen will keep watch outside."

Frankie's head snapped over to her brothers, her eyes going wide. "Me? Oh, no, no, no. I don't need to be anywhere _near_ danger."

Dean narrowed his brows and looked at her in the rearview mirror. "Why?" he grunted.

Frankie shuffled awkwardly in her seat. "I don't exactly handle myself very well in dangerous situations." She didn't like remembering her several manic outbursts and inept skills in the field.

"Which is why you're keeping watch where someone can keep tabs on you," Dean explained.

"As long as you're with Ellen, you'll be fine," Sam assured, nodding his head to her.

Frankie felt that dull ache heave within her again. "I-I… I dunno. I mean with the new news from Chuck… are you sure I should be so close to demons?"

Sam's brows narrowed, taking in her words. He turned to Dean. "She's right. We don't know how she goes. It could be anything."

Dean's eyes were downcast. He took in her words, too. "I know. And I don't like it, believe me. But we're too close to this guy, and we don't gotta lot of time. By the time we drop you off at Bobby's, he could find out we're on his ass and be halfway to China." Dean linked eyes with Frankie through the mirror. "You're gunna be alright, Franks. Just stay close to Ellen, and you'll be fine. You got your machete with you?" Frankie nodded and reached back for her blade. She unveiled it, the silver shining in the afternoon light. "Good. Keep that close, too. You're gunna need it."

Frankie felt a twist in her guts. He was probably right. And for the first time in a long time, the thought of ganking a demon with her machete freaked her the hell out.

* * *

The sun was getting ready to descend by the time they reached their destination. The Impala approached another car that was parked in a clearing beside the road. Two blonde women were standing next to it, one older with distinct frown lines and a younger looking girl, roughly around Frankie's age, wearing a tight, lowcut black dress with heels. Her yellow hair was bundled up into a flattering ponytail.

Dean parked the Impala next to their car and all three of them stepped out.

"'Bout time you boys got here," the older woman quipped in a distinct southern accent. She smiled as Sam and Dean walked over to them.

"Well, that's a fine 'how do ya do,'" Dean came back, a smirk plastered on his face. He then looked over to the younger girl. He tried to hide it, but Frankie could see his eyes brighten as he looked her over. "Hey, Jo."

The girl raised an eyebrow and put on a wide smirk. "Dean," she nonchalantly greeted. "Go on an get an eye full. I didn't get all gussied up for you."

"Nah. You got all gussied up for a _demon_. Good to know where I rank in the grand scheme of things," he teased with a quirk of his brow. With a playful roll of her eyes, Dean's face got a little less arrogant, his ego dipping. "You look good." Frankie wasn't blind to the soft blush pinkening both of their cheeks.

"I better. If we want it to work," Jo remarked, crossing her arms. When she had, her arms had pushed up her breasts, further revealing them under her dress. Dean turned his head over to Ellen to not linger on the sight.

After a quick moment of silence, the eyes of Ellen and Jo landed on Frankie. The girl a stood a little straighter, waiting for… anything. A general reaction maybe. Her own ego dimmed when they looked her up and down without any hint of emotion on their faces.

"So. You're John's little girl, huh?" Ellen finally spoke up. Frankie stilled. They already knew about her? She opened her mouth to speak, but the words were lost in her chest. The corner of the older woman's mouth lifted into a half smirk. "You sure do look the part. I'm Ellen. This is my daughter, Jo," she heartily greeted, leaning forward and stretching out her hand. Frankie took it with a small smile and nodded to both of them. "It's nice to finally meet you. Bobby hasn't shut up about you since these two dropped you off at his house like a dyin' pup."

Frankie pulled a tight grin and shrugged. "I pretty much was a dyin' pup, not gunna lie."

Ellen puffed out a small laugh. "Yeah, I bet."

Frankie looked between the two women. They seemed nice enough. Obviously good friends with Sam, Dean, and Bobby. Hunters, no doubt. That fact brewed up a rather dismal cloud that shadowed over her.

She would have been so excited to meet other hunters. She would have questioned them about everything they knew, cases they had solved. She would have felt honored to be in their presence. Now, she only felt disappointed that she would never be like them. Not only was she unqualified to be a hunter, but she wouldn't live long enough to try.

"So. We ready to take on this bastard?" Jo finally asked the group. "I'm freezin' my ass off in this get up."

* * *

The mansion was within sight. It was a huge, crème colored building with a spacious lawn and a lavish golden gate sounding the perimeter. It seemed vacant, save for the few rooms that were dimly illuminated, but they knew better. Demons were surely waiting just beyond the entrance. Now it was up to them to lure them out.

"Okay, Jo. You ready?" Sam quietly asked, placing a comforting hand on her bare shoulder. He could feel that she was shaking from the cold air.

"Yeah. Just don't, y'know, leave me hangin', okay?" Her words were meant to be playful, but the anxious undertones spelled out a different mindset within the girl they were using as bait.

"Don't worry. We'll be right behind you," Dean assured, taking out the jagged demon-killing knife and tossing it to Sam. He placed his own comforting hand on the bare skin of her upper back. "You're gunna be fine." She visibly relaxed under his touch. She spared a tight, uneasy smile to him before taking a deep breath and walking forward down the road to the massive gilded gate.

She put on a faux feeble demeaner as she approached the gate. Sam and Dean moved to their positions as Ellen and Frankie stayed back on a slightly elevated hill to watch over the scene. They scanned the area for any hidden threats while the plan went into motion.

Jo pressed a button on the gate and a muffled voice spoke through. "Hello?" she answered. "My car broke down! I-I need some help!" The voice crackled through the speaker again, but Jo didn't answer. She turned around, scanning her surroundings, before the gate hummed and opened into the property.

Two men in black suits walked out of an offset building and strutted over to the young girl. They had long, mischievous grins on their faces that made Ellen squirmed with a tense grimace on her face. Her eyes stayed glued to her daughter being cornered by two hulking demons.

"Evenin', pretty lady," the blonde and bulkier of the two greeted with a haughty sway to his step. "Get yourself on in here."

Jo flashed a timid, innocent smile. "I just need to make a call."

The man shook his head, still flashing that disgusting smirk. "You don't need to call anyone, baby." He glanced at the darker haired demon behind him. "We're the only help you're ever gonna need."

Jo began to nervously shift her feet and back away. "You know what? I… I think I should wait by my car." She turned around to walk through the gate. The blonde demon reached out and grasped her shoulder, holding her in place.

Ellen tightened her grip on her gun. Frankie adjusted her fingers on the machete's handle. They could see the demon's eyes change to black from their hill.

"We said, get your ass in here."

The demon barely finished his snarl before Jo whipped around and swatted his arm off her. She reared back and jabbed at his neck with her flattened hand, a distinct crack echoing through the compound. He growled in pain as Sam ambushed them from the bushes.

He stabbed the dark-haired demon through the neck, its body lighting up and twitching as soon as the blade sliced through his skin. The blonde demon got the blade through his spine, gaining another agonized wail from him before they both collapsed onto the grass.

Dean revealed himself behind Sam and handed a pack to the girl. "Nice work, Jo."

"Thanks," she panted. She reached in the pack and took out a pair of pliers. She shook her head to move the hair from her face. "Shall we?"

The three hurried off to find the main powerlines to the mansion. When they disappeared behind a corner, Ellen pushed herself to her feet. "That's our cue," she huffed, holding out a hand to Frankie. She took it and was hoisted to her feet. "Let's get a move on."

Frankie and Ellen crept through the gate and made a move for a secluded spot by the bushes. They crouched down and looked up to the windows. "That's gotta be our guy."

Frankie stared into the window of a dimly lit room. A silhouetted figure walked by the window, a drink in his hand. His image was only a blur as he set himself down in a chair. Frankie's fingers curled around the handle of her machete.

The lights suddenly shut off. Only the soft flickering of a fireplace illumed the room. The rest of the complex's power switched off with a low hum. Sam and Dean would be making their way into the house soon. Now all they had to do was keep a sharp eye and wait.

They watched as Jo made her way out of the mansion safely. A soft jingle emanated from her as she clutched onto the keys to Ellen's car. She was off to get the car and bring it over to pick all of them up once the mission was completed.

Staking out was boring. She should have expected as such. After all, she staked out with Sam on her first case and nothing happened for hours. Well, they didn't have hours. If they didn't hear anything from the boys in half of that time, it was cause for alarm.

Crouching was too painful, so Frankie sat down on the well-kept grass. Ellen followed her lead and sat back on her haunches. It was quiet for a while, nothing but the sounds of the crickets in the woods and the wind in the trees.

Frankie glanced over to Ellen. She was tossing her gaze over the lawn and through every window, but even she looked bored. Frankie crossed her legs and set her machete down in her lap.

"You okay, kid?" the older woman quietly muttered. Frankie looked up and met Ellen's eyes.

"Uh, yeah," she answered in a hushed voice. "It's just… y'know, for as worried as I was for coming on this mission, there isn't a whole lot going on."

Ellen nodded with a small smile. "Keepin' watch isn't the most exhilarating of tasks, but there ain't a more important job to have."

Frankie half-smiled and turned her attention back to the mansion. "So, how long have you known Sam and Dean?" As long as they were speaking, she might as well know more about the woman practically babysitting her.

"'Bout three years." She snorted and adjusted the gun in her hands. "Geez, has it only been that long?" She shook her head, a faraway smile on her face. "They came skulkin' into my saloon one day and got some sense knocked into 'em. They started knockin' on the door after that." Frankie muffled her giggle. "They made their appearances here and there. Don't see 'em as much as I did John."

Frankie froze at the mention of her father. It seemed that whenever someone dropped his name, she was reduced to a doe-eyed statue. John now felt like a mystical creature, a cryptid, that everyone had spotted but her. These days, it seemed that she was the only person in her world that didn't know her own father.

She titled her head up to look at Ellen. "You knew John?"

Ellen nodded her head, her smile dimming. "Yeah. I knew him. Good man. Damn fine hunter. We were real good friends back in the day. Hell, John was practically family once." Ellen's eyes somberly glistened in the moonlight. She flicked them down to Frankie. The corner of her mouth curved. "You have his smile, you know that?"

A sheepish grin involuntarily spread on Frankie's cheeks. "Yeah, I've heard that once or twice."

"You ever meet him?" Frankie was caught off guard by the question. She would have been even if she was expecting it. Her eyes drained of any light that had been in them. That was enough of an answer for Ellen. "Eh, well. I know he woulda loved to meet you."

A foreign feeling budded within her chest. It was clouded and too distant to make out exactly what the feeling was, but it didn't sit comfortably in her. "Really?" her voice spoke without her consent.

Ellen nodded, her blonde hair fluttering against her cheeks. "Oh yeah. John loved his kids. Loved 'em. Even that boy Adam." Frankie's heart clenched. Ellen made an amused noise in the back of her throat as a memory surfaced. "I remember this one time we were drinkin' after he'd wrapped up a case. Little girl was seein' a ghost or somethin', so he had to interview her. She said some'a the damnedest stuff you ever heard, but she was the most precious thing you ever seen. John was just tickled. He told me he always wanted a little girl."

The foreign feeling inside Frankie flared. Vines sprouted from the cloud and extended down to her stomach, filling her gut with a tingling, jovial sensation.

For years, _decades_ , she assumed John would want nothing to do with her. She assumed he would take one look and turn his back on her. But after hearing how he drove all night to see Adam and learning that he always wanted a daughter, it dawned on Frankie that he just might have tolerated her like she always hoped. Maybe he would have even taken her to a ball game. Maybe he would have showed up to one of her birthdays.

Maybe… maybe she could have been one of the kids he loved so much.

"So, I turned to him, drink in hand," Ellen said, continuing her story, "and I said, 'Well, hell, John. You can take Jo any day of the week. Gimme a night off!'" She chuckled quietly along with Frankie.

There was a certain air about Ellen, an air of comfort. She was nice to talk to. Even though this was literally their first conversation, Frankie felt like they would get along pretty well in the long run. Too bad she didn't have a "long run."

PANG.

PANG.

Two gunshots cracked from inside the mansion, sucking the calm air from the two women. Frankie's eyes snapped to the window where the demon had been. The fire still flickered, but he was nowhere to be seen. Frankie glared at it all the same.

She hurriedly stood to her feet. She took a single step before Ellen grabbed her shoulder. "Woah, there, kid. There's no sense in runnin' straight into open fire."

"Two shots. That coulda been-"

"I know."

"We gotta help them! They could be-!"

Ellen soothingly shushed Frankie and grabbed her other shoulder. She pulled her back down to crouch behind the bushes. She squeezed the girl's shoulders and looked her in the eye.

"I know," she repeated. Her voice was hushed but held gentle tone. "But you run in there after 'em, there's no tellin' what you'll find. You could get a bullet yourself." Frankie clenched her teeth as fear for her brothers swirled in her head. "I know those boys wouldn't want you killin' yourself without thinkin' things through. Now, you stay here. I'll go and check things out."

"You're leaving me?" Frankie gasped, her eyes going wide. "No, no, I can't be alone. You can't leave me alone!"

"Listen, listen, honey," Ellen soothed. "I know you're scared. Just remember what Dean taught you, alright? I won't be long. You'll be fine."

"N-No, you don't understand. I'm-"

"Hey." Frankie's panicked stammering silenced as she looked into the dark eyes in front of her. "You're gunna be fine. I'll be right back." Frankie's mouth remained suspended after Ellen stood up and walked off.

Frankie was now alone. In a mansion filled with demons. That could easily possess her. And kill her when the time was right.

In less than two days.

Frankie clutched her machete close to her. Her fingers squeezed against the handle until blisters spawned. She couldn't die yet. There was so much she still had to right out. She was still keeping things from Sam and Dean, and she hadn't found the right moment to tell them. Every time she had the chance it was taken from her. Now, they very well could be dead.

She puffed out a short breath. No, they couldn't be dead. They couldn't. She refused to let them. She was the one who was supposed to be brutally killed, not them. That was her destiny, her burden to carry. Luckily, she wouldn't carry it for long.

Thoughts of her death began fluttering through her mind. Chuck said it was a horrible, messy one. Well, what in God's name could happen to her that would be so terrible? Would she be tortured by demons for information over an importance she didn't know about? Would angels have her killed to send a message to Sam and Dean? Would it be something stupid like a car crash or a long fall down a sewer drain? That would be so embarrassing. No wonder the fans didn't like her.

Her ears picked up a quiet sound. Grass shuffled behind her. Her eyes widened as she clutched her machete.

Before she could whip around, and unknown arm wrapped around her neck and squeezed it. It stood up, raising her neck with it until her feet were no longer on the ground. They kicked out and dangled helplessly in the air. She clawed at its arm with her free hand as she turned her blade towards her attacker. She struggled to inhale a quick breath passed the choking forearm as she readied her machete.

Squeaking out a muffled growl, she jabbed the machete behind her to her attacker. There was an instant jerk and a deafening yell of pain in her ear, but there was no twitching and no lighting. She must have just grazed it.

The attacker snarled as it lurched forward towards a tree. It rammed Frankie's body into the thick trunk. Jagged bark cut into Frankie's face, sending splintering jolts of pain through her nose and cheeks. It rammed her into the tree again, causing white spots to flutter behind her eyelids. She struggled to keep her strength, but the lack of steady oxygen and sharp pain in her face clouded her mind.

She tried the only thing she could think of it such a panicked state. Her legs reached behind her, aimlessly searching for the demon's knees. When her heel touched what felt like the kneecap, she pulled her knee up as high it would reach before kicking back with all her might.

She felt the leg give, and she heard the cracks. Her body was dropped to the grass as the demon snarled like a ravenous beast behind her. She coughed through her bruised throat and struggled to fill her lungs with air.

She clenched her jaw through the pain stinging all over her. She grabbed her machete tight and jumped to her feet. She turned on the demon, raising her machete in the air. The demon's eyes locked onto the shimmering blade as it made its decent to his head.

It grasped Frankie's wrist before the machete touched his shiny forehead. He reared his leg back and kicked Frankie square in the chest. The air she tried so hard to inhale was knocked out of her as her back collided with a tree trunk.

Frankie's blurry eyes cleared to see the demon readying his fist for her face. Widening her eyes, she snatched his wrist and leaned to the side, dodging the blow. She yanked the arm behind her attacker's back and pushed down on his body. She tightened her grip on her machete and tucked it under the demon's neck. In one swift tug, Frankie dragged the blade deep into the demon's neck, splattering blood across her sneakers.

The demon twitched in her arms, his orifices lighting up before the body went limp in her hands. She practically threw it on the ground. She panted at the demon's former vessel with a scowl on her face. She dragged her shoes over the pristine black suit to wipe its blood off her sneakers.

Frankie sensed more danger too late. A solid mass exploded against her head. An immediate ach burst through her skull as the ground got closer and closer. The tickle of grass in her ear registered before she realized that she was lying down.

Her eyes were blurry and unfocused. The only indication of what happened came in the form of a slick, expensive-looking shoe just stepping into view.

Damn. She should've known they traveled in pairs.

Her attacker gathered her hair into its hands and yanked. Her hair caught on its fingers, tugging some of the strands out of their roots. She rasped out shouts of pain as the suited demon dragged her body into the mansion, pawing helplessly at its fist in her hair. She was slow to notice the severe lack of machete in her hands.

She was dragged through hallways and up stairs by her hair, unable to catch her footing with how fast the demon tugged her along. All she could do to muffle the pain was hold onto the rest of her hair not being tugged by a demon.

While being dragged along, Frankie noticed two dead bodies on the ground down a long hallway. Rapid fear pulsed within her. However, they were not her brothers, but rather two dead suited demons. Small hope that her brothers could still be alive flared within her. The one dragging her had no reaction to them as he passed.

The demon finally reached a room and yanked her to her feet. She yelped out a raspy cry. The demon opened the door to the room and pushed her in. "Found another one," the demon spat. Frankie rubbed her raw skull as it slinked out of the room just as quickly as it entered.

Her throat hurt too much to spit a curse in its direction. Instead, she turned and observed the room she was thrown into.

Sam and Dean stood in front of her. She let out a great sigh. Seeing them okay washed her with a such relief that it nearly dulled the pain in her aching body. A smile made an attempt to form in the corner of her mouth, but she quickly noticed that they weren't the only ones in the room.

Her eyes flicked to the center of the room at a figure behind an ornate desk.

Her breath was sucked from her lungs. Her eyes widened so much that the cold air around her stung them, but she didn't dare blink. Her throat tightened, stinging the bruises just placed there.

The "man" standing on the other side of the room gawked at her. He stood in his well-tailored black suit and lavish tie, the very same she saw him in months ago. His face was just as she remembered, though the smugness that was once so prominent on his face was gone, traded in for a stunned gape.

But his eyes… those two malevolent amber marbles that hungrily craved her soul were still just as they were that night. Wicked. Evil. And staring at her with such a calculating and stone-cold glare that froze her in place like witchcraft.

Of all the fucking demons in Hell, why did it have to be him?

"Crowley?" she squeaked in her fragile voice.

"Frankie?" he lowly rumbled. His voice was lined with confusion, but his eyes flared with curiosity.

Sam and Dean gawked between the two. "Woah, woah, wait," Dean blurted, holding up a hand. "You two know each other?"

Frankie twitched. Oh God, don't let this be the moment. Don't let this be the place where the truth comes out. Not in front of _him_.

The demon, Crowley, kept his eyes tethered to Frankie. It was nearly impossible to even breath in his presence. His intense pupils were blazing with contempt, draining her lungs from air and burning their walls. Frankie's eyes betrayed her just like they did that night. They flicked down to his curvy lips.

They were smirking.

His teeth shined too brightly in the moonlight that oozed through the windows. A short cough of laughter erupted from his throat. "Oh no, no. You don't mean…," he chuckled in that pretentious British accent of his. "You? You're what everyone's been going on about? _You_ are their…?"

He pointed his drink towards Sam and Dean, but Frankie didn't tear her eyes from his malicious grin. A loud bark of laughter ruptured from his chest. He placed his glass down on the desk. "Oh, this is too rich, it's practically diabetic!"

Frankie was cold from her toes to the roots still left in her head. She could've sworn that her blood had stopped flowing.

"Will someone tell us what the hell's going on?!" Dean snapped, glaring at the girl and the demon. His eyes lingered on Frankie.

Crowley rounded his desk and leaned against it. His eyes bore deep into Frankie's. "Do you want to tell them, or shall I?"

Frankie's gulp was painful as it struggled down her tight throat. Her eyes began to sting with sweat pooling around them.

"Somebody better tell me _something_ or I'm about to pull answers outta both your asses!" Dean shouted, taking a step towards the two.

Crowley lifted a brow at Frankie, a silent dare to tell them the truth. He was loving the sick humor of the situation and was going to push it further, no matter what it costed her.

Frankie knew the truth had to come out. This was the moment, but she had no way to even begin what she was going to say.

Crowley lazily blinked his eyes over to her brothers, his smirk growing just like the Grinch's. "Frankie here sold her soul to me-"

"No!" she shrieked. She stepped forward, glaring at the demon with every drop of wrath within her. "You bastard!" Crowley merely grinned at her.

Sam and Dean gaped at Frankie. Their eyes narrowed on her, their mouths parted in a silent exclamation. Sam eventually puffed out a small scoff. "What?" he gasped.

"You still have a chance to tell them yourself," Crowley mused. His eyes were sluggish, laidback as he watched the entertaining scene before him. When she didn't answer him, he slowly blinked, too languid to shrug. "She practically crawled on her knees, _begging_ me to heal her kidneys."

Frankie's breath hitched. Even though she had a chance to stop him and explain herself, she felt powerless against his loose lips.

The demon's eyes reached for the ceiling. "Oh, and there was another part of it, wasn't there? Something about wanting her family gone?"

Frankie clenched her teeth and dug her nails into her palms. She took a few more heated steps towards him. "I told you I never wanted to see them again! I didn't ask you to _murder_ them!"

Crowley's hooded eyes were the physical embodiment of apathy. "Fine print, darling. Watch your wording next time." His lips stretched into yet another impish smirk. "Course, there won't be a next time will there?"

"Sonnuva bitch!" she hissed.

"Frankie." Her eyes finally did the right thing and darted over to her brothers. Her heart broke at the sight of them. Sam's wounded eyes looked her over in disbelief. Dean had a frigid glower on his face, but Frankie could clearly see the anguish in his twinkling green eyes. "Is this true?" Sam asked. His pained voice stabbed her gut with sorrow.

"Oh, it's true," Crowley answered, pushing off his desk. "Just look at that pent-up guilt in her eye. She made a deal. Summoning box, lying out terms," his eyes flared with a carnal glint, "and a kiss. The firm, chapped, slightly moist icing on top." Frankie cringed and crossed her arms. "Oh, don't be so proud, you loved it."

He tilted his head in a shrug. "And I held up my end of the bargain. You're getting exactly what you settled for. Ten years for two healed kidneys." Crowley stepped toward the girl. "Ten years to live healthily with your brothers." He took another step. His voice lowered to a dangerous growl that struck fear into her fragile chest. "But you failed to mention your brothers were the _bloody Winchesters_."

Crowley was as close as he had been the night they made the deal, toe to toe. His voice quieted to a low rumble, the nauseating smell of scotch on his warm breath fluttering into her nostrils. "You failed to mention you were one, too." A single corner of his mouth curved upwards. "And not just any illegitimate daughter of John Winchester, _the_ illegitimate daughter of John Winchester. The one all of Hell has been scrambling for. And I had her all along." Frankie could now clearly see that the amusement in his eyes was squished into a scowl of utter hatred. "Do you have any idea how useful that information could've been to me?"

Frankie battled him with her own intense glare. "I don't care," she hissed.

The demon's brows listlessly lifted. "Of course not. Why would you?" he backed away from her, much to her silent relief. He turned away from her, making his way back to his desk. "But, me thinks you'll care more when I take five years off your sentence. How's that sound?"

Frankie's back snapped straight. Stunned fear trickled down her back like raindrops. "Th-That's not fair! We had a deal!"

"Yes. We did. And still do." He rounded his desk, now standing on the other side. He knocked back the rest of his drink. "But I'm afraid the Winchesters' darling little sister's soul is not worth ten years." He tilted his head in an almost shrug. "I can make it four if that works better for you."

Though it didn't really matter, seeing as she was going to die in a few days anyway, Frankie couldn't believe that the bastard would tweak their deal like that. It wasn't fair! And if they did miraculously figure out a way to prevent her death, five years was all she got?

"You can't do that!" she barked.

Crowley stilled, his eyes hardening. "Can't I? Firstly, you sold your soul to _me_. I own it now, you don't. Secondly, I'm the bloody _King_ of the Crossroads. I handle all contracts, so I can make whatever changes I feel fit to make. And thirdly, I'm _bloody Crowley_!"

Frankie flinched at his sudden roar. He jabbed a pointing finger at her. "Five years!" he screeched. His head snapped over to Sam and Dean. "And you two." He threw something over to them. Dean caught it and opened it to see a round of bullets. "Don't miss! _Morons_!"

Crowley was gone in an instant, leaving the three Winchesters in the room alone. He left behind only the crackling sound of a fireplace and the thickening air of her revealed secret.

Frankie was paralyzed. Months of keeping her biggest mistake hidden, and now the damn demon that owned her soul told them to their faces. Months of rocking back and forth, rehearsing how she would tell them, just imploded right in front of her.

She wished she never left that hospital.

The weight of the tense air in the room was crushing her. She couldn't breathe. She needed them to speak. She needed to get this over with. She couldn't handle the prolonged silence. She needed them to speak!

"Say something," she peeped. "Please." Her head refused to move in their direction. All that she could see from them was Sam shaking his head and shrugging.

"What do you want us to say?" he tersely asked.

That was a damn fine question. And she didn't know. She didn't want them to tell her it was fine. That it was okay and that they would find a way to help her. She didn't want them to yell at her. To scream that they never wanted to see her again and take off in the Impala. She didn't know what she wanted them to say, but she needed them to say it.

She finally shoved her paralyzing nerves away and turned to look at them. Sam focused an emotionless face on her. His mouth was a thin line, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. His eyes were shadowed by his lightly furrowed brows. When he looked at her, it appeared as if he… wasn't surprised. That he had an inkling that she would have done something like this. But… but he had no room to talk. He started the end of the world! We all make mistakes! And yet why did it feel like her crimes outweighed his?

Her eyes flicked over to Dean's. God, she wished they hadn't. He glowered, _scowled_ , at her. He forced an intense anger into her the likes of which she had never received from him. Not in any of the first days they had known each other, not in any day of training, not even earlier that day when he found out about the _other_ thing she had been keeping from him. But this look of rage derived from something deeper than surface level vexation.

He looked betrayed.

Her heart crackled inside her. Streams of remorse drizzled over her. "Dean, I know you're mad-"

"Mad?" he quickly cut off. "You think I'm mad?" His voice was eerily level. He brought a hand to rub his mouth as he looked anywhere but at her. After a huff and a shake of his head, his flaming green eyes bore into hers. "Jesus Christ, Frankie, you sold your soul to Hell. You're going to Hell. Do you even care?" Air was building up in Frankie's lungs with no hope of escape. "You _know_ better than this, Frankie! You know that you _never_ make deals with demons! Why would you do something so _stupid_!" Dean shoved a chair, knocking it on its side with a thunderous crash. Frankie flinched, finally expelling a shock gasped.

"I-I didn't know what else to do," she weakly vouched.

"Right!" he scoffed, turning his body and nodding his head.

Frankie puffed out a failed breath. "Look, I knew it was a bad thing to do-"

"And you still did it anyway!" Dean snapped, whipping his glare back to her. "After _everything_ I taught you, _everything_ I tried to drill into your skull to save your life _and_ your soul, you _still_ bartered it off to the first demon who would listen! God, I know you don't listen to _us_ , but don't you care at _all_ what your conscience says?!"

Frankie retaliated under the suffocating weight of failure, gathering a few morsels of hostility. "There was nothing else I could've done, okay?! I was lying there in a hospital _dying_ with no other options! No one was gunna just _give_ me a kidney!"

Dean furrowed his brows. His lip quirked in a contradicting grimace. "You don't know that." His tone differed from his enraged outburst. His voice was lower and came from a broken origin. Though Frankie could have picked up on the wounded sound to his words, her own rising frustration deafened her to his true emotion.

"Yes, Dean, I do," she bit, wearing a glare of her own. "We tried the waiting game and it wasn't working. I was at the bottom of a long list and my family wasn't gunna give me theirs!"

"So you had them killed?!" Sam blurted, finally revealing his suppressed rage.

Frankie glanced over to him, grief flooding her falling face. "I didn't know he was gunna-"

"He's a demon!" Sam barked. "He gets off on death and carnage! You really thought he was gunna play fair?!"

Frankie was quickly losing grip on herself. It was a lost battle to begin with, but her last defenses were crackling. "I-I wasn't thinking about that!"

"No, you weren't thinking at all," Dean spat.

Frankie darted her eyes to her eldest brother. Her hands gripped her arms tighter as her glare hardened.

"I _was_ thinking. I was thinking of how much better my life would be without my sickness being a roadblock. I was thinking about my life with y'all! How much better it would be if I lived long enough to be your sister! I was thinking about how much help y'all needed to stop Lucifer!" Her eyes blurred with bubbling tears. Her voice cracked in her throat. "I was thinking of _y'all_."

Dean nodded his head and pursed his lips. "Sure. But did you think about what happens in ten years?"

"Five," Sam spitefully interjected.

" _Five_ years?!" Dean's eyes morphed into an ethereal visage that penetrated Frankie's soul. "Did you think about being torn to shreds by hellhounds? About you own blood being the last thing you tasted? Did you think about being dragged down to Hell and tortured forever? Feeling pain and fear not even your nightmares could make up?"

He tilted his head, gazing at her with aggrieved eyes that began to appear misty. His voice lowered, possessing a pained edge. "Did you think about how we would feel knowing where you were? Did you even think about that? That we would stay up at night, not able to sleep 'cause we knew you were in Hell?"

Her eyes flooded and spilled over her cheeks. The scratches there stung against the salt seeping into them, but the pain there was microscopic compared to the utter anguish writhing within her as Dean appeared just as he did in her nightmares. His brows dug deep into his face, reaching desperately for his nose. His lips were scrunched to hold in the roof shaking reprimand on his tongue. His face showed ferocity, but his eyes…

"No," he hissed. "You were thinking about yourself, that's what you were thinking about. You wanted a happy-go-lucky life with your new family so much that you were willing to give up _everything_ just so you could get what you wanted. You were _selfish_. And now you've _damned_ yourself to Hell."

His eyes held such a shining image of disappointment, so much that those eyes appeared to be glossy and wet with tears.

"You promis-"

Frankie's heart shattered into billions of unrecognizable pieces. Dean had tried to muffle the crack in his voice by rubbing his mouth and heaving a heavy sigh. The fading of the glossiness of his eyes seemed practiced with how quickly they reverted back to a stoic façade.

He stormed passed both his siblings. "Sam," he gruffy commanded. Even if it was hardly a command, Sam still followed his brother's haste order and marched out of the room without another word. The door deafeningly slammed, but she did not flinch.

She finally dropped to her knees, unable to hold herself up anymore.

She once thought revealing her secret would make her shoulders feel lighter. Now they might as well have been duel minivans crushing her entire body.

Her secrets revealed, yet her guilt raged on.

Her world had finally crumbled.


	37. Chapter 36 - Goodbye

**A/N: Whoo, buddy, here's another one. I have decided that since many of us are in quarantine, I will post whenever a chapter gets finished rather than waiting for the weekend. And since I am in quarantine, I have so much time to work on the last few chapters of this story.**

 **Yes. The last. few. chapters.**

 **We are almost to the end of this journey, yet so much remains to be resolved. It's gonna be a while ride, my friends. I'll see y'all in the next chapter!**

* * *

The kitchen was alight with laughter and jaunty, optimistic music. The air was warm with an evening breeze that blew through the cracked windows and circulated the thick aroma of liquor around the house. They were drinking like it was the end of the world. Because, for _some_ at least, it was.

Ellen knocked back a shot of whisky and slammed the glass upside down on the tabletop. She along with Jo smirked tauntingly at Castiel sitting across from them. He had five glasses before him, mirroring the now four in front of Ellen. After a curt cue from the woman, Cas began knocking back one after the other without a single wince as they watched astonished. It certainly was amusing to witness an angel bending his elbow like a frat boy after taking his finals. Frankie, for one, would have been laughing her ass off at the sight. But that night, for good reason, she just wasn't feeling it.

She elected to sit in the middle of the staircase leading to the second floor. She could peek into the kitchen and observe the festivities. She envied how they were able to muster a smile. She missed those days.

Sam and Dean sat in the study, Dean behind Bobby's desk and Sam sitting across from him. They chose to spend their time going over the mission tomorrow. Crowley had given them not only the way to kill Lucifer, but the location where he'd be as well. The demon apparently wanted to save his own ass – something about Lucifer killing demons off after humans, she didn't know. She wasn't in there for that part.

So, the mission was to travel to Carthage, Missouri, find the Devil, and place a specially made bullet between his serpentine eyes. That was all well and good, sure. Only that Frankie was now despised by her brothers for lying to them, keeping secrets, running away, causing unnecessary trouble for herself and others, and breaking a promise to Dean.

Their eyes met. Dean glared at her, all but rolling his eyes before forcing his pestered scowl towards his brother. That hurt Frankie, but it wasn't like she didn't deserve it. If she had come clean at the first fucking moment – no, if she never made those fucking mistakes in the first place – she wouldn't be in that dilemma. She would already be dead, most likely sailing on a cloud in Heaven. Yet there she was, sitting on a staircase in Bobby's house with no one to blame for her plights but herself.

A soft and repetitive thud reverberated from beneath her butt. She lifted her gaze and saw Jo ascending the stairs. Frankie hugged her knees and scooted to the wall, pressing herself into it to clear room for her to walk past, but the girl slowed and sat herself down on the same step. She brushed the back of her hand through her wavy blonde hair to clear a path for her bottle of beer and took a big gulp.

She turned to Frankie with a smile, but it wasn't beaming with joy. It was filled with a sad respect as she glanced at the disheartened brunette. "Hey," she greeted. "You good?"

Though Frankie was confused as to why Jo was giving her the time of day, she had learned by then to just roll with certain things and not dwell on them, lest she overthink. Beside that point, no. She was not good. But that was clear enough.

Frankie's eyes dropped to her knees. "They tell you?" she asked, so quiet that her voice was nearly drowned out by the gently blowing wind through the shutters.

Jo looked down at her bottle and nodded. "They told me."

Frankie shook her head. Of course they would. She curved her lips into a small, dour smile. "Can't say my first impression is shinin' too brightly, huh?" An invisible spear of humiliation jutted through her stomach and minced her guts, filling her with well-deserved shame. "God, what you and your mom must think of me now…"

To her surprise, Jo giggled. It was light and hushed, and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to smother it. She glanced back over to Frankie with a half-apologetic look.

"'Scuse me for laughing, but… Frankie, this ain't a monastery." Frankie narrowed her brows. She knew that. Jo leaned closer to her. She could smell the alcohol on her breath, but it didn't nauseate her in the way it did when she was with Crowley. "I'm gonna tell you something, alright? There's not one person under this roof that's never done something they regret every single day of their life." She lifted a brow and gestured to Sam and Dean with her bottle. "You're not the only one in here that's sold their soul. And you're certainly not the only one who's lied to those they're closest to."

Frankie narrowed her eyes. No one else sold their soul… right? Her eyes landed on her brothers.

"Hell, you're not even the only one that's got ties to the big wigs up in Heaven. Point is," Jo gazed deep into Frankie's eyes, gathering her full attention, "you're not in this alone. So, you shouldn't treat yourself like a leper. Come on down and live it up with us."

The corner of Frankie's mouth lifted on its own accord, but she forced it back down. "That's nice of you to say, but…" She threw her eyes to her knees. "I don't feel like partying."

"Why?"

Frankie sighed. "Well, two of y'all hate my guts." Jo glanced down at Sam and Dean. "I just don't feel like it."

If they didn't want to be around her, she wouldn't force her presence where it wasn't welcomed. She would have nothing to gain for it. She got what she wanted. Her conscience was clear. She would go to Hell without any secrets. She wouldn't be her mother.

Jo shrugged and sipped her beer. "That's fair. I guess I just thought since… I dunno, this's your last night on earth, maybe you'd wanna make it worth it."

Frankie shook her head with a heavy sigh. "Sorry to say, but booze and lackluster music ain't gunna make this night worth jack. I'm not like you guys after all. I can't just shove my problems deep down and carry on like there's a better day over that next hill. Not when I know there's no hill."

Jo hummed and stared at her for a long while. Frankie began to feel slightly discomfited under the gaze when the girl finally looked towards the bottom of the stairs. "It's a dangerous mission, what we're goin' on tomorrow. This might be some of our last nights, too. Don't you wanna say goodbye? Let anything else off your chest before kickin' the bucket?"

She was never going to see Sam and Dean again. She was never going to see Bobby again. Jo and Ellen would be no more. And Cas would never again come when she called desperately in the night. She preferred it when she wasn't wondering what her last images of them would be.

Her chapped lips parted, a slow breath slithering into her lungs. "I'm no good at goodbyes," she rasped.

Jo nodded a little longer than normal. "Okay. No, I get it. I totally do." Her voice was sincere and comforting. It broke Frankie's heart. She didn't deserve such sentiment. Jo downed the rest of her beer and stood to her feet. She smiled down at the girl. "Well, in that case, it was great to finally meet you, Frankie. You seem pretty cool. Woulda gotten you to tell me about some of those cryptids you know so well." Frankie allowed the curve of her lips this time. "But, uh…" Jo's eyes dimmed. She rested the tips of her fingers against Frankie's shoulder. "I know it's not my place, but I really think you should talk to them. They're no good at sayin' goodbyes either."

With a light pat on the shoulder, Jo descended the stairs and rejoined the festivities. Dean's eyes lingered on her sashaying hips as she walked past, but Frankie had by then returned her attention to her jeans. She lifted herself from the stair and ascended them, walking into her room and lying down on her bed. She'd been gone so long that she had forgotten the homey smell of mothballs and old cloth on her pillow.

Maybe she should go talk to them. They hadn't spoken a word to her since they left Crowley's mansion. A near twenty-four hours. Which also meant she had a near twenty-four hours left.

Despite spilling her secrets and getting it all out in the open, there were still a few things she wanted to say to her brothers.

To Sam, she would thank him for welcoming her into his family the moment he found out she was truly his sister. She had finally felt like she belonged somewhere whenever he was around. She would tell him that though she didn't forgive him for starting the end of the world, she had tried to keep an open mind. After all, she made her fair share of mistakes. She appreciated him for trying to right his wrongs, something she found herself failing at.

Even though she didn't understand how his mind worked, she couldn't deny they had a genuine connection when he didn't act on impulse and demon blood. She wished she had more time to make things right with him.

To Dean, the only thing she would say to him was sorry. Sorry that she came into his life at the worst possible time. Sorry that she wasn't the best student she could be. Sorry that she didn't tell him about her problems before time ran out. Sorry that she wasn't worthy of being a Winchester.

Sorry that she disappointed him.

Her knees curled up into her chest. She hugged her pillow tightly, burying her face into the cloth. She couldn't do it. She couldn't put that on them. It was better for them to hate her than feel guilty about not being able to save her. They wouldn't be able to bring her back, so she didn't want to give them a reason to.

To right her wrong, she had to get out of their life. Not cause them any more pain or guilt. To right her wrong, they had to forget about their disgrace of a sister.

A soft knock rapped on the door. She knew who it was. She had memorized the polite knocking from the many motel rooms in the past couple weeks.

"Come in," she announced, already standing from the bed and walking towards the door.

Castiel entered with the usual concerned look paired with furrowed brows. "Are you alright?" He barely got the words out before Frankie walked into his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

She constricted her arms around his midsection, tighter and tighter until she squeezed him enough to gasp. Of course, he didn't gasp seeing as angels didn't need to breathe. Yet despite how tightly she hugged him, she couldn't grasp the comfort she desperately needed.

She opened her mouth, and the air that had been held hostage there blew out. She squeezed her eyes almost as tightly as her arms. "Can you please kill me now?" she whispered.

"What?" Cas grunted. He clutched her shoulders and pulled her from his body to stare perplexed into her wet eyes. "Why would you ask me that?" His eyes squinted in that Castiel manner. "What's wrong?"

Ah, Cas. The ever-concerned angel, always at the ready to help the ones he cared about. And for whatever reason, he still doted on her. She certainly didn't believe she deserved anymore kindness from him, but he was an angel. He wouldn't be able to understand even if she explained to him why she no longer wanted his help.

He wouldn't understand that it was killing her every moment he spared for her, that she had been wasting his time and was still wasting his time.

He wouldn't understand that she cared way too much for him to spend a single moment more with him. He was the last thing on the planet that she had left, and she didn't want to risk ruining that before she died.

Her breath hitched in a light hiccup as tears swam down her cheeks. She curled her fingers around the lapels of his coat. She sniffed as she took in the sight of his navy-blue tie. She wanted to engrain in her mind how the knot was never tidy, how the tail was always facing the wrong way – every detail – so that she could always return to her friend in her thoughts.

She lifted her tearful gaze to the deep blue eyes above her. They stared perplexedly down at her, wondering why this girl was clutching his coat so tightly and scrutinizing his tie. She smiled forlornly at the angel, at her friend.

"I don't wanna say goodbye," she brokenly sighed, her voice cracking. More tears raced to her chin as he tilted his head. She exhaled through her nostrils as she dropped her eyes back down to his lapels. She smoothed her hands over them to straighten out the wrinkles.

"It's pathetic to say, but…," her eyes squeezed shut, "Cas, you're my best friend. And I wish that meant something more than it does, but you're literally the only friend I've got."

He shook his head. "That's not true. You have Sam and Dean."

"Brothers. Not friends." Frankie sighed as she opened her eyes to a dirty carpet. "And they hate me now."

"They don't hate you," Cas grunted, his voice firmer than before. His hands dropped to his sides.

Frankie rolled her eyes with a huff. "Go downstairs and mention my name. Report back to me if they don't scowl or sneer."

Cas was quiet for a moment, thinking over her words. She encouraged him with a quirked brow. "What about Bobby?" he offered.

"I don't know what we were. Acquaintances?" Frankie turned to the side, somberly gazing off into the short distance of the bedroom's walls. "We had a more respectable relationship. I was kinda more of an appreciated maid than a friend. Y'know, I cooked for him and cleaned. I don't think we ever had, like… a heart to heart or even a worthwhile conversation. A lot of short stories shared together, but nothing lasting."

"Ellen and Jo-"

"I literally just met them. Not like I've created a positive memory to leave behind for them."

"Surely you have someone else that values you."

Frankie sassily slow blinked over to the angel. "Crowley? He seems to value me, but I think he's more interested in my soul."

The angel's gaze fell to the floor as he finally put together that he was all that was left. Sam and Dean still cared for her – they would not be angry if they didn't – but it was difficult for the girl to see that when everything else in her world was blinding her perception of those around her.

If he explained to her that several minutes ago they were discussing ways to save her from her inevitable demise, she would not have believed him. If he tried to explain that earlier that day they had visited every bookstore in town to find a copy of the prophet Chuck's latest book only to be met with barren shelves, she would have assumed he was inventing prevarications to pacify her sorrow. It was in her nature to doubt acts of compassion, especially if they were originated from anger.

Frankie gazed helplessly into the faintly downcast eyes of the angel. "Cas, I'm not trying to make you feel awkward or anything." With his eyes back on her, Frankie gawkily returned her sight to his coat lapels. She straightened them even more as tears shimmied out from under her eyelids. "I just want you to know that… I've never appreciated the help someone has given me more than the help you gave." Her fingers tightened around his coat. Her voice weakened against the tautness of her throat. "And I wish I had more time to thank you properly."

Castiel looked down at the girl before him. He looked down at this young human, still trying to get her footing on his father's planet. She had not stood a chance against the world of her brothers. And he had nominated himself as her protector against the world of _his_ brothers. And he had failed. At least, he was going to. He made a promise to her, one that he broke the moment he made it.

He tightened his jaw as his eyes traced over the girl he had failed. "I'm sorry."

Frankie glanced up, her eyes shimmering in the dim light of the single lit lightbulb above them. "For?"

"Though it has yet to come to pass, I've broken my promise. I won't be able to protect you."

Frankie's lips parted, her jaw barely slackening. She moved her hands to his shoulders and forced seriousness into her eyes. "No. I released you, Cas. You don't owe me any debt, you hear me? You owe me nothing. You've broken no promise."

Frankie could tell that her words were falling on deaf ears. She couldn't force him to understand her. He was so disheartened by letting her down. He was guilty.

If she was dying, she wasn't leaving anyone to drown in guilt over her. She didn't want that kind of burden anymore. What he needed was something to hold onto. A task. After all, he was a soldier – ex-soldier, really – and was programmed to follow orders.

"Cas, I need you to make me another promise. Okay?"

His eyes twinkled, his shoulders straightening. "Yes. Anything." It was kind of cute, the way he was so ready to take orders, to help.

Frankie smiled, stretching slick cheeks. She squeezed his shoulders, giving them a light shake. "Take care of Sam and Dean. Bobby, too. I need to know they'll be okay. I know they will, but… just to ease the weight on my soul. Will you do that?"

Castiel nodded his head, not questioning her request for a single moment. "With every drop of my strength."

Frankie's smile widened. She knew he would. He kept his word, always.

She lifted onto her toes and pulled herself up by his shoulders, bringing him closer. She enveloped her arms around his neck and squeezed him into a solemn embrace. She didn't try to suffocate him this time, and instead pressed her cheek softly against the frayed stitching of the coat covering his shoulder.

He went rigid against the embrace, just like he always had. It felt more like hugging a department store mannequin than her friend, and yet she couldn't bring herself to end it. It didn't matter if he hugged back, she didn't expect him to. She just needed a moment, just a single moment to hold onto him, to smell the hint of whisky that had trickled onto the collar of his white shirt, to feel the warmth of his neck against her skin.

Her eyebrows slightly narrowed. That in itself was odd. He was never really ' _warm_ '. In her experiences with him, he was cold, almost like a walking corpse. Yet there in that moment, he emitted all the warmth in the world she could ever need. She tightened her hold on his neck.

"Thanks, Cas," she whispered.

A fleeting thought invaded her mind. That moment could be the last one she had with Cas. Her heart sagged painfully in her chest. There was no way they were letting her on the mission, she knew that. Cas would be going with them. This would be the last time she ever touched him.

This was her goodbye.

Her lip quivered, and tears oozed out of the corners of tightly clasped eyes. His coat quickly dampened. Her arms squeezed tighter around his neck, her fingers clutching handfuls of his coat. She didn't want to let go. She didn't want to say goodbye to the only friend she ever had.

Two solid masses slithered onto her back. Arms rested on her spine and lightly pressed against them, pulling her closer into the embrace.

A trembling breath left Frankie's lips as she sank deeper into Cas' hug. He lowered his head to her shoulder, the stubble of his jaw scratching at her neck. A giggle bubbled up at the light tickle, but her taut throat reverted it to a soft, desolate whimper.

She rested her chin on his shoulder and tilted her head to rest against his. Her ear rustled into his feathery black hair. The faint scent of parchment made itself known the closer her nose got to his skin. Such an odd aroma, yet it always brought her peace when she was nose-deep in an old book. That same contentment blossomed behind her eyes while she was nose-deep in a hug from an angel.

A bit of light made its way to her freckled cheeks. "Sure you can't just end me now? While I'm finally at ease?"

Cas' voice rumbled against her, vibrating within her chest and sending a slight chill up her spine. "I would never."

Frankie softly chuckled and nestled her head against his. "I know you wouldn't," she whispered contentedly.

"Everybody get in here!" Bobby hollered.

The heralding southern drawl from downstairs made her jostle in his arms.

Frankie heavily sighed as she hung onto the angel's neck. She didn't want to let go. Cas, however, released his hold on her back and leaned away. She lamentably dropped back onto her heels and drew back from his shoulder. She leaned as far away as she could without letting go of him. She found his eyes, his startlingly caerulean eyes.

They spoke of some unknown thought, an unknown feeling. They were filled with a solemnness that was unique to his face. She didn't like it. She didn't like to see him even remotely close to being sad. She wanted him to be happy, to go on living fine without ever having to see her again.

And yet she didn't want to let him go.

"'S time for the lineup! Usual suspects in the corner."

Castiel pressed his lips together. He backed away, her arms dropping to her sides. Frankie huffed bitterly, not at Bobby but more so at life for making that the last embrace from Cas she'd get. He turned and walked to the stairs, Frankie following closely behind. They headed into the study where Bobby was setting up a camera.

"Oh, c'mon, Bobby. Nobody wants their picture taken," Ellen groused.

"Hear, hear," Sam deadpanned. The others gathered into the room. Frankie avoided Dean's gaze.

"Shut up. You're drinkin' _my_ beer." Bobby backed away from the camera and grasped at his cane. He hobbled over to a chair positioned across from the lens. "Anyway… I'm gunna need something to remember your sorry assess by." He lowered himself into the chair with a huff as everyone gathered around him. Cas was positioned on the far right next to Sam. Ellen stood in between him and Dean as the older Winchester wrapped his other arm around Jo. Frankie stood next to the girl and lowered a hand onto Bobby's arm.

"Ha! Always good to have an optimist around," Ellen quipped as the group smiled ahead at the camera set up on a tripod.

"Bobby's right," Cas grunted, his voice level and grim. "Tomorrow we hunt the Devil. This is our last night on earth."

The angel's words sat heavily on everyone. The joyful moment of a group photo was crushed as they all realized that he was probably right. Though Frankie knew it was her last night, knowing it very well could be the others' created a painful cramp in her heart. Her brothers might have a shot of getting out alive, but did the same go for Jo or Ellen or Bobby? What about Cas? What happened if he didn't make it?

The camera flashed before anyone could recover their smiles.

They stayed huddled together, trying to regain their indifference towards the dangerous mission the next day. Bobby was the first to disperse. He grunted as he lifted himself from his chair. Frankie tried to help him up, but he pulled away from her. She flinched back as he hobbled over to the camera.

She was sure he protested because he didn't want anyone's help with his leg, but it still pained her that he so frigidly jerked away from her. Maybe he was angry at her for leaving and for selling her soul. Maybe she was just overthinking things. Either way, a gloomy blanket shrouded over her.

She scooted back to the wall and leaned against it as the others dispersed from the group. She crossed her arms over her chest as she watched them. Bobby took the photo from the camera, and Sam walked up behind him to get a peek of it. Ellen returned to the kitchen and grabbed two beers, giving one to Jo.

She exhaled a dismal sigh. Cas' words still echoed in her head. Bobby would be there in the house with her, so how much trouble could they get into? Unless… unless demons came to the house and ambushed them. Frankie could only fend off so many and Bobby had an ailment he couldn't shake. They didn't really stand much of a chance, the two of them.

And what about Ellen and Jo? They were going on the dangerous mission, too. What if they didn't make it back? What if they sacrificed their lives for the mission?

The memory of the first night of her debut case resurfaced in her mind. She recalled every word that Dean lectured to her.

' _We can't save everyone. We'll try, you bet your ass we will, but… no matter what case we work on, someone will get hurt. Even die. It's part of the whole process. It's crap, but it's the one we got. To save everyone else, sacrifices hafta be made. If that sacrifice is us, then dammit, it'll be us.'_

A very bad feeling hatched in her gut. Something was going to go terribly wrong on the mission, she could feel it. Hell, they were going after _Lucifer_. Someone was going to get hurt. They might _all_ get hurt.

Even die.

She couldn't shake the feeling that they were going into a losing battle. After all, a demon told them about this. Surely other demons, ones more loyal to the Devil, would know they were coming for them and take precautions.

They needed all the help they could get. Maybe she should go, too. She was dying anyway. At least this way her death could help them. It could mean something.

She lifted her gaze to the room. She suddenly realized that she hadn't seen Dean or Cas disperse. She scanned the room and found them talking by the front door. Well… it was more of Dean muttering something and motioning his head over to where she was standing. Cas' head lowered, his eyes downcast.

Frankie furrowed her brows and pushed off the wall. Something else didn't sit right in her gut. She glanced over to the other side of the room. To her shock, the others were staring at her. Ellen and Jo stood at the entrance to the kitchen, beers in their hands and firm gazes pointed her way. Bobby leaned on his cane, his stern look glued to her. Sam stood next to him, his arms crossed and a severe glare freezing her feet to the floor.

The bad feeling grew tenfold. A faint panic pulsed through her veins, her heart throbbing noisily in her ears.

She saw someone approaching her in her peripheral vision. She snapped her head towards the looming figure and found Cas standing there. A breath of small relief seeped from her lips at the sight of her friend, but something was still wrong.

His eyes were filled with burden and remorse. He pressed his lips together as a near silent sigh escaped through his nostrils. "I'm sorry," he muttered in a level yet laden voice.

Frankie felt backed into a dark corner. She darted her eyes around the room at the glaring faces. Her eyes finally landed on Dean.

He was the only one not looking at her. He leaned against the frame of the study's entrance, his arms crossed and a faraway scowl on his stormy face.

Frankie's eyes darted back to Cas, but his face was blocked by the sight of two fingers reaching for her forehead.

Her mind shut off like on old TV set, the last feeling she retained being two arms catching her limp body.

* * *

Dean scanned his eyes over the arsenal, triple checking everything. They couldn't be too careful, especially going into the fight they were heading into. Satisfied enough, he shut the false lid and tossed his and Sam's bags into the back.

He turned his head over to Ellen's station wagon. She was doing the same – going over inventory – as Jo rummaged through cassettes to play on the trip over to Carthage, her feet propped up on the dashboard. Cas sulked to the backseat, ducking in with a distant frown etched into his face.

Dean was noticing a lot of changes in his friend. The biggest being the fact that he had been lying to his face for the past couple weeks. He thought he got over trying to be a white knight. First it was Heaven, now it was his sister. What was next? Sam? Bobby? He didn't know how much more of this back and forth loyalty he could take.

But his topsy-turvy allegiances weren't the only thing he picked up on. Cas was starting to _feel_ different, too. He wasn't as guarded and resolute as he used to be. Even after he'd chosen to be on their side, before he got yanked back up to Heaven, he was still more angel than friend. But now he seemed more… curious. More interested and affected by those around him. Especially Frankie.

He could tell the moment they got together on that roadside. Cas and Frankie had developed some weird relationship since she ran off. He figured a lot of that had to do with her being handpicked by God to run his errands or something, but if that was the end of it, he wouldn't be acting the way he was now.

When Dean told him the plan to knock out Frankie, something changed in his eyes. They widened, almost in shock. The very idea of it strummed some sort of ill chord with him. He looked ready to shake his head and flat out refuse. He looked ready to fly upstairs and guard her door, protecting her from any of them that wanted to knock her out and leave her behind. But despite his obvious protest, he forcibly dulled his eyes and nodded his head, agreeing to whatever Dean thought best.

Later that night, once they took Bobby's picture, Dean gave him the go-ahead to do his magic finger thing and send her off to dreamland. When he did, Cas' eyes didn't widen in shock. They didn't dull into a complete lack of emotion, either. They fell to the floor. He was upset – _visibly_ upset – of what he had to do. It was the first time Dean had ever seen a hint of genuine, non-manufactured sadness in the angel. The look stayed on his face as he knocked her out and carried her downstairs.

Something was going on with Cas and Frankie, and whatever it was had been going on for months without him or Sam ever noticing. The thought alone of them keeping their weird friendship or whatever it was from him was enough to make him slam the trunk of his car shut a little harder than he normally would.

Someone approached him from the corner of his eye. He looked over and saw Bobby waddling over to him, faint strain clear in his clenched jaw. Dean swallowed down the pain that came with the sight of him struggling as the man stopped in front of him.

"All set?" he asked.

Dean gave the trunk a light pat, a silent apology for handling her so roughly. "All set."

Bobby nodded with a long sigh. "For the record, I think this's a stupid idea."

Dean furrowed his brows at the man. "Bobby, this's the best chance we've got. We know where Lucifer's gunna be, we have the Colt-"

"I ain't talkin' 'bout the Devil, son."

One look into the weathered, knowing eyes of the man told Dean enough. He shuffled his feet, condescendingly cocking his head to the side.

"What, you want her out there with us?" he incredulously asked, pointing to the road behind him. "With demons and a damn archangel?" Bobby shrugged. Dean's eyes hardened, his voice firm. "No."

"I'm just sayin'-"

"What _are_ you saying?"

Bobby sighed. He looked off to the side as he adjusted his grip on his case. "I don't like it anymore than you do, believe me. But… this's fate we're talkin' 'bout. A damn prophesy from _God_. Meddlin' in what Chuck's predicted is only gunna make things worse."

Dean arched and eyebrow at Bobby, tilting his head to the other side. "I'm sorry, when'd you become the Sherlock of prophets?"

Bobby's lips scrunched up in a scowl. Whatever foul words he possessed in a remark were hidden behind his scruffy, graying beard. He continued in as level a voice he could muster. "What if keepin' her locked up in here is exactly where she needs to be?"

Dean huffed and walked past the older man, faintly shaking his head at the nonsense spouting from his mouth. "It's the safest place on the planet, Bobby. She _is_ exactly where she needs to be. She comes with us, she dies." A dark lump slithered its way up his throat, with it appeared the bloody image of his sister, gasping and twitching in his arms. Dean clenched his fist as he swallowed it down and forced a steely tone back into his voice. "I'm not lettin' that happen."

"You can't save everyone, Dean."

Bobby's words hung precariously in the air. They echoed against the walls of his brain, over and over again, mocking him.

From the moment he started caring for that little brat, he was done for. Yet another person he needed to look out for, someone else to protect. Yet another person who would grow to be a weakness. Yet another person who would kill him if anything were to happen to them.

He tried to keep her safe, but one dead kidney was enough for her to throw it all away, to disregard everything he taught her, to diminish everything he tried to do for her. He tried so, so hard to mold her into someone that could defend herself, someone who could make the right choices. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

He wasn't going to save her. She will die, bloody and gasping and twitching, gagging for help. And when she stopped her convulsing, the last of her life leaving her, she would be dragged straight down to Hell. Her skin would boil, her bones would melt, hooks serrating every inch of flesh and tugging on them inch by inch every time she writhed in agony. She would disintegrate her throat screaming for help. The wails of tortured souls would brand themselves in her memory. And she would never forget the screams.

Never.

No. No, that wasn't going to happen. He wouldn't let it. He'd jump straight back down there before he let her go through any of that. She messed up, yes, but he'd be damned – _again_ – if he let her suffer in Hell. She was locked up tight, completely safe. She would be fine. There was no way she would end up out there with Satan.

"She dug her grave. She needs to lay in it."

Dean's eyes, once foggy and distant with fear of losing her to the pit, now snapped wide open and cut to Bobby. He slowly turned his head over to the older man, his muscles on his jaw twitching with how tightly he clenched them.

"Let me get this straight," he growled, gruff and fierce. "You wanna send her out there into the fire, knowing damn well she's not gunna make it out alive?" The man pressed stanch eyes into Dean's scowl. Dean shook his head, never tearing his eyes from him. "God, Bobby, you are sick."

Bobby let out a quiet breath. His face drooped, sorrow coating every line in his craggy face. "She's dead anyway, Dean. They'll find some way to get to her. You know that. Least this way she'll be able to help y'all get to the Devil." Dean shook his head, searching for anything to say to describe his revulsion for Bobby's words. The older man quickly continued to halt his tongue. "I hate it, too! I like the kid. I've missed her like hell! But… she's too far gone. Best to spend her last moments doing the thing she always wanted."

Dean scoffed. "What, hunting?"

Bobby narrowed his brows over remorseful eyes. "Being with her brothers." Dean's hardened eyes thawed, his grimacing lips sagging. "It's bad enough y'all are endin' it all with bad blood."

Dean felt like he was punched in the throat. The thought of his heated shouting being the last thing he ever said to her twisted his guts in a nauseating coil. What if she died thinking he hated her? Another blow to his throat formed a hard lump in his windpipe.

He tried to hide the clear of his throat. "We're not," he grunted. "We'll… we'll talk when we get back." He spared a quick look to Bobby before opening the driver's side door to the Impala and ducking inside. "Keep an eye on her."

Bobby huffed as Dean closed the door. He raised his voice so the boys could hear him. "Don't miss!"

* * *

Whoosh… whoosh… whoosh…

A rhythmic hum pulled her from the dark chasm in place of her mind. A peculiar vibration prickled her hip, rousing her from her slumber. Red coated her sight, and her body was warmed by an unseen sun. She experimented with a stretch and found pain awaiting her consciousness.

Her back was polluted with twinges and aches. She moaned. And received a moan back. An echo surrounded her and harmonized with the whooshing high above her. She moved again and hissed in protest, sending another phantom voice swirling around the room.

Her eyes dared to crack open. A bright light painfully forced itself into her eyes. She winced against what was most likely the sun. She opened her eyes again, bracing herself against the light. She saw a fan, huge and circling high above her. It hummed a dull song each time it revolved around the completely circular room.

The completely circular metallic room.

Her eyes widened, ignoring the brightness that impaled her retinas. She finally noticed the Devil's trap mounted under the fan. She sat up, wincing against the stiffness of her back.

The iron walls of the panic room encased her. Beneath her was the cot, unfolded from the wall. Across from her was the very door she had memorized months ago.

Closed with her behind it.

"No," her throat squeaked. She launched off the cot like an Olympic swimmer at the sound of a gunshot, aiming for the door.

' _No, no, no, no, no,'_ she chanted urgently in her head.

She rammed the door. The pain in her shoulder from the impact didn't bother her nearly as much as the fact that the door did not open. It was locked from the outside.

"Oh, God, no," she breathed out. Panicked gasps echoed off the metal walls of her prison. "S-Sam! Dean!" She slapped the walls, her palms falling over the dents her brother placed there not so long ago. " _Dean_!"

She whipped around, fruitlessly tossing her gaze around to find some sort of escape. The grimy texture of the cylindrical walls appeared like that of a snake's belly. It shifted and contorted and constricted with every rattled gasp. Breath after breath after breath, the room got smaller. Her skin was tight, as if she was enveloped in plastic wrap. She couldn't breathe. She was suffocating.

Filled with sand.

Inside a Russian Nesting Doll.

She scratched and pounded against her walls, but no matter how much she fought, the demon was still in control. There was no moving. No speaking. No escaping.

The door to the basement squeaked open.

Frankie opened her eyes, not realizing they had been clamped shut. She turned back around as someone descended the stairs. "Dean?" she called out in a desperate, puny voice.

The hatch screeched open. Through the small window, Bobby's whiskered face appeared. Frankie sank against the door of the chamber, a breath of relief hissing against the iron dungeon.

"Bobby! Thank God. Thought y'all left me for dead."

"More like the opposite," he muttered, arching a bushy brow.

"What's going on? Why'd y'all put me in here?!" Frankie snapped. Following her imprisonment in her own body, tight, inescapable spaces fondled her with perturbing tentacles. She reigned in what little control she had over herself and pointed her attention through the small window of the chamber.

"The boys thought you'd be safer in here. We couldn't have you runnin' after the Devil with him knowin' what he does."

Frankie tensed her jaw. "Well you don't have to keep me locked up in here."

"Don't we?" Bobby chuckled. An irritated bubbling flared in the pit of her stomach.

"No," she bit. "I'm not following them. Trust me, that's the last place I wanna be. They've left already anyway, right?"

"Trust," he mumbled. He waddled away from the hatch, his cane clicking against the concrete. "Forgive me if I have my doubts."

Frankie winced. She scraped her nails against the metal to distract herself from icy thorns prickling beneath her skin at the remark.

"I deserved that," she resigned, her voice hushed. Her teeth caught her lip, biting down to muffle her rising shame. "For what it's worth, Bobby… I'm so sorry I didn't come clean earlier. I was just… scared." Her eyes dropped to the floor. "So scared." Her fingers slipped through the slit of the hatch, clutching it like the bars of a prison. "Still am. I sold my soul. Was given the burden of a place in Heaven's plans. Got possessed. And I die today." A dry chuckle shimmied up from deep in her throat. "I'm terrified."

By some miracle of fate, Bobby's eyes softened. The edge of his bristly beard curved upward. "You're not dying, kid. Not today."

She quietly scoffed, a dour smile tightening her cheeks. "No offense, Bobby, but I don't think you're a Prophet of the Lord. How can you be sure?"

He lifted his cane and rapped it against the iron walls. "You're in here. This thing's ghost-proof, demon-proof, and angel-proof." He observed his work with pride in his eyes. "Nothin's gettin' in there without a fight."

Frankie quirked a skeptical brow. "Is it Lucifer-proof?"

Bobby was quiet for a moment. The pride in his eyes dimmed. Gathering an optimistic sigh, he turned and wobbled towards the staircase. "Even if it ain't, it's still the safest place on the globe. An' yer gunna stay here until this day rolls into th' next."

Her heart began to throb painfully against her ribcage as she watched him ascend the stairs. Her chance – albeit small chance – of being set free from her cylindrical prison slipped through her fingers.

"You think that'll save me?"

"Fer the night it will," Bobby answered, throwing his words over his shoulder.

Frankie pressed her face as close to the hatch as possible, inhaling as much free air she could. "For the record, I don't think this's a good idea!"

Bobby stopped at the top of the stairs. She heard him heave a heavy sigh before opening the door to the first floor. "Well, kid, you're not really a scholar on good ideas."

No amount of metal scratching could dull the pain from that remark. He shut the door with an echoing thud, cutting off her only chance of escaping.

Frankie tried her meditation exercises. It had been a while since she returned to them, but if she ever needed it, it was in that moment. She took in long, smooth breaths and slowly let them seep from her lips. She tried to clear her mind from the shrinking walls behind her.

After a while, things stopped seeming as bad as they did. With her head cleared, she could grasp that she wasn't alone in the house. Bobby was just upstairs in case anything went wrong. Like if the iron around her crushed her body into juice. Or if Lucifer came a'knockin' on the door.

But Bobby was right. Despite the terrifying thought that she was locked in a tiny room with no chance of escape, just waiting for the dinner bell to ring for some sort of creature that _could_ break into the panic room, all the while her brothers and best friend far away hunting the biggest foe they could ever hunt, it was the safest place she could be.

She didn't blame them for tossing her in there. After all, the night before she was thinking about joining them on the mission to sacrifice herself for them. So, of course, they locked her in the safest and most secure place they could to keep her from A: running right into the claws of Lucifer, and B: protecting her from the thing that was supposed to kill her until the night passed.

That was just so stupid. It was foretold by a _prophet_. Something like that isn't so easily manipulated. Sam and Dean should have known that.

However, she had to face the fact that she was stuck there, whether she thought it a good idea or not. And, hell, it wasn't all bad.

She warily turned around to find that the walls had not yet swallowed her up. Letting out a shaky breath of relief, she paced around the room, revisiting the many aspects of it that she became accustomed to the night Lucifer was set free.

It was rather fitting. She was standing in the middle of that Devil's trap on the floor when the Devil was set free, and now here she was standing on top of it the day he was to be killed. Fate truly was a poetic bitch.

She circled the room, continuing her meditations under her breath. She ran her hand over the shelf of weapons, eyeing the several guns, knives, and hatchets. Her fingers froze on a handgun. A pistol, a Beretta 92. A solid black beauty.

Frankie missed her old revolver. She lost it along with most of her other things back at the warehouse Meg beat her in. If only Gabriel had thought to grab her gun for her. It had a lot of sentimental value. Her first gun, the one she endlessly practiced her shooting with. Oh well. It was surely long gone.

Her fingers slithered around the handle of the pistol. She tested the grip, squeezing it into her palm. She experimentally shifted her calluses against the chilly, stippled metal. She slid it out of its display on the shelf and lightly bounced it in her grip, testing its heft. She lightly hummed. It could work.

Oh, fucking hell, who was she kidding? When would she ever use that thing? She was going to die by sundown. And if she did make it to the next day, her brothers would see to it that she remained locked in the panic room for the next five years.

Despite her raving mind, she made sure the safety was on and stuck it in the back of her jeans.

She opened a metal cabinet that was mounted next to the shelves. She was surprised to see grenades glimmering back at her. Her eyes traced the several different appearances of the shells. They were obviously from different manufactures and different areas and different eras. Funny enough, she realized that she had never seen a grenade in person before.

She cautiously lifted a finger up to one. The tip of her finger hovered just above the shell. Would it explode if she touched it? She saw Loony Toons. She knew people should never play around with one of these things. And yet she couldn't pull her hand away. Her pulse throbbed in her ear, her neck warm with apprehension. She held her breath and moved her finger closer to the shell.

A violent tremor on her hip made her flinch and jerk away from the cabinet. She listened to the echo of her startled squeak from the unsuspecting sensation. Her hand dove for her pocket. She took out her persistently vibrating cellphone. She flipped it open to see that an unknown number was calling her.

She narrowed her eyes and pressed the button to answer. "Hello?" she guardedly muttered into the phone.

"Frankie?! Oh, thank God!"

The girl's eyes went wide as her brows deeply furrowed. She would recognize that squirrelly, shrill voice anywhere. "Chuck?"

"Where are you?! Are you with Sam and Dean?!"

She was quick to notice the urgency in his voice. "Uh, no. No, I'm not." She stepped back into the center of the room. "Why, what's wrong?"

"Oh, man," he moaned. "You're in the panic room, aren't you?"

Frankie blinked. "Yeah." The uneasy feeling from the night before made its appearance known. "Chuck, what's going on?"

"Did you tell them about your death?"

"W-What?"

"Did you tell them you die today?!"

"Yeah. Of course I told 'em."

Chuck whined through the phone, his voice plagued with fear. "Oh, this's bad. This's really, really bad."

Her ears returned to pulsating along with her heartbeat. A slight quake jittered her fingers.

"I-I had a vision."

She shook her head, trying to make his words sound less concerning than they probably were. "You always have visions."

"Not like this. All my visions become reality, b-but this…" She could hear him scratch at his no doubt shaggy hair. "It changed."

Frankie concentrated on forming the word in her mouth. "Changed?"

Chuck's voice bore a grave tone. "I've seen this day before. I know how it ends. H-How it's supposed to end… But I just got the same vision, b-but the ending _changed_. Now it's an altered reality, one different from what's written in my book."

Frankie kept shaking her head. She was having trouble grasping what he meant, but she knew one thing for certain: it wasn't good.

"See, originally you went with everyone on the mission to kill Lucifer a-and mostly everyone makes it out okay. But now that they trapped you in the panic room, you don't go with them."

Frankie sat herself down on the cot. She tried to clear her mind and wrap her head around what exactly was so urgent. "So? How much could change by removing me from the picture?"

"Frankie…" Chuck's voice was terse and ominous. A chill skipped down her spine. Something was clearly wrong. "If you don't go on this mission, Ellen and Jo will die."

Her body numbed. The weight of the words paralyzed every nerve. Her lips tingled like TV static; her mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

"What?" she gasped, her voice barely a whisper.

Chuck's voice was as broken as hers, if not more. "They don't make it out. It was… awful." He sighed into the phone. She could practically see the pain in his eyes from having to witness their deaths. "And Sam and Dean…"

"What about them?" she snapped. "What happens to them?!"

"I-I don't really remember. It just happened. It's still coming back to me."

No, no, no, no, this wasn't happening. Dammit, this was what she was worried about! If one messes with fate, there will be harsh repercussions. Didn't her brothers see _Back to the Future Part II_?! Now fate had changed for the worst.

She was as good as dead anyway with her soul belonging to Hell and Heaven no longer needing her. It was in everyone's best interests if she died anyway… but now Ellen and Jo… Sam and Dean's friends… two people undeserving of death… now they had to die in her place. They had to pay the price for her not being there. It wasn't fair! They had a chance! They all did! They could've all gotten out alive if only she'd been there to take the fall.

"Ellen… Jo…," she panted, almost like she was futilely calling out to them to warn them.

She had to warn them. She had to save them! This was her debt to pay, not theirs!

"I-I-I hafta to warn them! I gotta call them!" She stood to her feet. "Chuck, thank you."

"N-No, problem," he answered, still shaken up. "Now go."

He didn't have to tell her twice.

She pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call. She frantically thumbed at the small device, looking for Sam and Dean's numbers. She fumbled with the phone, nearly dropping it, as she hurried to catch them before the unimaginable occurred.

She finally pressed down on Sam's number and dialed his phone. She shoved the phone to her ear.

"It's Sam. Leave me a message."

She froze.

No.

She dialed his phone again. His voicemail repeated.

No. No.

She scrolled to Dean's number and dialed it. His curt voicemail droned into her ear. "This is Dean's other, _other_ cell so, you must know what to do."

No, no, no, no.

She began pacing the room, dialing their numbers over and over again until her thumb went numb. She raked her free hand through her hair, now beginning to work up a panicked pant.

"C'mon. _C'mon_!" she shrieked into the phone.

She snapped the phone closed and tightened her fist around it. The urge to hurdle it at the iron wall was overbearing, but a tiny voice pleaded for her to calm down and think things through.

She sighed and walked over to the door. She leaned her body against the freezing metal, her mouth pressing against the open hatch to breath the free air. She tried a weak meditation.

Okay. So, she was locked in a cage with no way out while the friends of her brothers – and probably her brothers themselves – were going to be killed by Lucifer in a completely different state. No biggie.

The only thing she could think of was futile, but she had to try. "Bobby!" she cried out. "Bobby, please! Let me out! _Bobby_! They're in danger! Ellen and Jo, they'll die if I'm not there! Chuck said so! Please believe me!"

She knew he could hear her. She had heard every scream from Sam when he was locked in there. The thought of him being trapped in here for days gave her a violet chill.

It was no use. He would just think she was lying like she had been for months. He'd be stupid to trust her word.

"I know! You don't believe me. I get it. I mean, hell, I can't even remember the last time I told the truth." Frankie pushed off the door. She slowly walked across to the cot and sat down on the thin blankets. "I haven't been fair to you. To any of you. Y'all gave me everything. A home. A family. And I just spat in y'all's faces. I'd give anything to take it all back… but I don't have anything anymore. I have nothing."

She linked her hands together. Tears pooled in her eyes.

"I mean, what am I, y'know? I'm not a Winchester, I'm not a Pearce. I'm not a hunter. Or a daughter. I'm barely a cryptozoologist anymore… I'm not even useful to _Heaven_. So… what am I good for? What's my purpose in this life? Do I even have one anymore? Is there even a reason left for me to be here?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head. Her voice faltered against her quivering lips.

"I was given so many chances to make the right choice. And I blew 'em all. What's the point of goin' on if I know I'll just screw everything up?" Her tears clicked against the concrete. "Just… if I could just do one right thing… _one_ … I'd waltz right into Hell. No qualms. I mean it. I'll get outta all y'all's hairs. You won't have to worry about me anymore. Lucifer'll be dead. I'll be gone. You guys can be happy."

She sniffed, the sound hissing against the walls. She lifted her head to the faraway fan above her. The sun shined through the Devil's trap and down onto her like a Heavenly light, but she found no comfort in it.

"And this's my chance," she wheezed. "My chance to make things right. People, _good_ people, will die if I don't go out there. I can't… I can't live with that. I can't live knowing that every day of my life was stolen from theirs." Her hands tightened against each other. Her voice was wet and grieving. The words barely formed on her tongue. "What I did was wrong. I hurt my family. But I don't wanna hurt 'em anymore. I just want 'em to be happy. Together. That's all I want." Her chest heaved a whimpered cry. She bent forward, losing her last morsel of hope.

"That's all I want…"

The piercing shriek of metal wailed. She flinched against the grating noise and lifted her gaze. She held her breath as she stared ahead at the door.

It was opening.

She pushed herself to her feet, not believing what she was seeing. The door whined as it peeled back to reveal the basement. The stairs were right there, beaming like her salvation.

She shook her head. No, it was too good to be true.

She slowly stepped forward. "Bobby?' she peeped. He didn't answer her. She stood in front of the doorway, feeling the cool breeze of fresh basement air. "Hello?" she said, peaking out into the room.

No one was there. She looked behind the door. No one stood there. She searched the entire room, but she was the only one. A strange feeling blanketed her shoulders. She didn't think anything… _natural_ opened the door. But the time for questioning who let her out would simply never occur. There was no time, and she would not be around long enough to seek the answer.

She hurried back into the panic room and dove for the shelves of weapons. She gathered extra ammo for the trip. One could not be too careful. She moved to leave, but her eyes caught sight of the metal cabinet next to the shelves. She froze in thought. No, she wouldn't need to.

But then again, one could never be too careful.

Frankie grabbed two grenades and ran out the door before it magically closed. She rushed to the stairs but stilled. Her thoughts still lingered on whoever opened the door. She wondered if they were still there.

"Whoever you are…," she announced to the seemingly empty room, "thank you."

Frankie crept up the stairs and opened the door. If it was obviously not Bobby, then he would surely not approve of her being let out. She slowly opened the door to the hallway. She didn't see him, but that didn't mean he wasn't just around the corner.

She carefully calculated her steps, avoiding the loudest floorboards. She could see into the kitchen. It was empty. Her eyes narrowed on the key hooks next to the entrance into the study. Swallowing down an anxious lump in her throat, Frankie crept into the kitchen and made a beeline for Bobby's keys.

A thump froze her in her tracks. She'd been caught! She knew she'd been caught! Bobby was probably pointing a shotgun at her right then and there! She was done for!

She opened her eyes, not knowing they'd been closed until she heard another thump. They both came from upstairs. Her sigh of relief was a little too loud. She winced as the thumps picked up as if they were walking – or rather stumbling – out of a room to check on the suspicious sound in the kitchen.

Time was running out. Sneakiness be damned. Frankie grabbed the keys and bolted out the back door. She started running, making a beeline for Bobby's truck parked next to his garage. She practically jumped into the driver's seat and jammed the key into the ignition before she even closed the door.

The truck thrummed to life. After thinking she would waste away in an iron prison for five years, it was music to her ears. The dizzying stench of gasoline only grew the relieved grin on her face. She stomped on the gas, tearing up dirt and gravel as the truck sped off toward open road.

Frankie made the biggest mistake by looking in the rearview mirror. Bobby was standing on the front porch leaning against the railing, cane nowhere in sight.

Frankie forced her gaze through the windshield. She tried to suck the tears back into her eyes, but she couldn't help the fact that she had just look at her home for the last time.


End file.
